"Yes. He managed to clear himself; but the royalties looked at him coldly, and he is not a man to bear that. The father of the girl-Pilarcita's friend-was at one time much liked by the young King, and people thought it was Carmona's motive for engaging himself. With the first breath of the storm the Duke was off; and the discarded fiancee entered as a novice the convent where she and my daughter went to school. That is why Pilarcita so much dislikes him-"

"But it's not all!" cried the girl. "What about the grey bull, poor Corcito."

Colonel O'Donnel laughed his gentle, chuckling laugh.

"Our home is close to a _ganaderia_-a bull-farm of the Duke's near Seville," he explained indulgently. "The places adjoin; and as I've allowed this Pilarcita to grow up a wild girl, very different from the young ladies of Seville she should emulate, she has made friends of the Duke's cattle. There were, some years ago, a grey bull that was as tame with her as a pet dog; but it took a dislike to the Duke, who came to have a look at his bulls once, and attacked him. The saying is that the Moorish blood in the Carmonas gives them a cruel temper. At all events, Carmona could not forgive the bull its disrespect, and promptly had it sent off to the slaughter-house, though it was a _toro bravo_."

"That's like him," said I.

"There's nothing he wouldn't do against an enemy, or to gain a thing he wanted," said Pilar, turning to me. "Take care, now he wants something you want."

"It's been so between our families for generations," I said. "My grandfather ran away with the girl his grandfather wanted to marry, and my father and his in their youth had a furious lawsuit."

"Which won?" asked the girl.

"My father."

"Be sure he will remember," said she. "Oh, how I wish we could help you!

It would be such a revenge upon him for poor Eulalia and for Corcito.

Papa, _can't_ we do something?"

"If we could," echoed the Cherub, "_for his father's son!_"

Suddenly the girl jumped up and clapped her hands. "Oh, I have thought of the thing!" she cried "It would be like a play." But her face fell. "I don't know how to propose it," said she. "Perhaps you and Mr. Waring would disapprove. And how could we invite ourselves-"

She stopped; but I made her go on. "Please tell us," I said. "It's sure to be a splendid plan. And anything a.s.sociated with you would bring luck."

"This would be very much a.s.sociated with us," said she, laughing; "for the idea is that, instead of going home by rail as we meant to do, day after to-morrow, we go on in your car with you, pretending to be Mr. Waring's guests, and you supposed to be my brother Cristobal."

"Pilarcita, some wild bird has built its nest in your brain," said the Cherub.

"Wait till I finish!" the girl commanded. And it was easy to see that, though her father shook his head, she was a spoilt darling who could do nothing wrong.

"I only wish Cristobal were here," she went on, breathlessly; "but there was a regimental dinner, and he had to leave us. He'll come in later, and you shall meet him, and hear what he says to the plan. Oh, there's not much fear that he'll object, when you are Angele's friend, and she's doing all she can for you. He'd walk through fire to please Angele. And this would be but to give up his leave-or at least the going home with us-and lending you his uniform, which I'm sure would fit you sweetly."

I could not help laughing at the way she disposed of her brother and his plans, to say nothing of those she was making for me; but she rushed on, anxious to justify her counsel.

"You don't understand yet," she insisted. "It's a _wonderful_ idea. You see, papa and I have met the Duke in Madrid, at friends' houses. I've scarcely spoken to him, for Spanish girls don't have much chance to talk with men, but he'll remember me, and papa too. The lucky thing is, he's never seen my brother since Cristobal was a little boy, and then no more than once or twice, when he came out to his _ganaderia_. He must know, if he stops to think, that papa has a son; that's all. And you say the Duke only saw you at the fancy dress ball, in a Romeo costume, with a fair wig.

When Lady Monica Vale gave that start forward, and looked at you in the automobile, although you'd made your car different he fancied you might be in it, and telegraphed to have the man he suspected kept back at Iran.

Well, it was clever of you to change with your chauffeur; but all the same, if you go on, dressed as a chauffeur, you can never have a chance to get near Lady Monica. And if you appear as yourself, even though the Duke isn't sure it's _you_, he'll keep Lady Monica out of your way. And her mother will help him, as she wants them to marry. But think how different for my brother! We all happen to meet-suppose it's in the cathedral-and papa says: 'How do you do? You don't remember Cristobal?' He'd simply have to accept you as Cristobal, although he might find Cristobal rather like that troublesome Marques de Casa Triana."

"Casa Triana is also Cristobal," I laughed. "Ramon Cristobal."

"All the better. We shouldn't any of us have to fib. I always said Cristobal is the luckiest saint to have for a patron. See how he's _offering_ his help to you. And oh, _did_ you know he's the patron saint of automobilists? To-morrow I'll give you a Cristobal medal to nail on your car. They're made on purpose; such ducks! But now do you begin to understand what I'm driving at, and that it wasn't just _impudence_ to suggest our going in your automobile, papa and I? What with us, and San Cristobal, you ought to get your foot on the Duke's head."

"But what about your brother Cristobal?"

"Oh, he! We must all thank San Cristobal that he has this leave, otherwise the Duke could easily find out; but instead of going home he can go-why, he can go to Biarritz, where he will see Angele, so it will be nice all round. And imagine yourself in his uniform, walking with us in the cathedral, where the Duke is sure to take Lady Monica and her mother,-otherwise, why stop at Burgos? One comes for that, and nothing else, unless one has a little brother in the garrison. _Now_ what do you say, Don Ramon?"

"I say you're an angel," I replied with promptness. "But I also say that Colonel O'Donnel won't allow such an arrangement."

"Oh, won't he?" exclaimed Pilar. "Do you think I'm an ordinary girl of southern Spain, who says 'yes, yes,' and 'no, no,' as her parents wish, and looks down on the ground while life pa.s.ses? Only to think of being like that is enough to make a woman grow a moustache and have an _embonpoint_ out of sheer ennui. It's my Irish heart which keeps my father and brother alive; and when I want to do a thing they hurry to let me do it lest I have a fit-of which I would be capable."

"As you are a Cristobal," said the Cherub mildly, "it might be managed, if you liked, without our having to go more than an extra time to confession.

I could wear the sin upon my conscience, if you could; and if you could wear also the uniform of my son."

"I'd like to see Carmona's face when you're introduced," remarked d.i.c.k, in his slow Spanish.

"You will see it," exclaimed Pilar; and with this, the door opened and the other Cristobal came in.

XII

UNDER A BALCONY

I liked the brother because he had his sister's eyes, and-being the ordinary, selfish, human man-I liked him still better for his enthusiastic desire to help the last of the Casa Trianas. Whether his enthusiasm was for the sake of Casa Triana, or Angele de la Mole, was a detail. It had the same effect upon my affairs; and having taken very little time for reflection. I let myself be hurried away on the tide.

Pilar-as unlike a Spanish girl in mind as she was like one in face-stage-managed us all. We merely accepted our parts in the play, I thankfully, the others calmly.

Brother Cristobal was, perhaps, not sorry to make an unexpected flight to Biarritz, with news of d.i.c.k and me as an excuse, instead of spending his leave tamely at home. There was, at all events, a suspicious alacrity about the way in which he agreed to disappear as early as possible the following day. As he was wearing the uniform which was to be made over to me, it was decided that he should bring it to my room next morning before hearing ma.s.s at the cathedral. It was Pilar's idea that I should go there with him, getting off before the _fonda_ was fully astir, and seek sanctuary in dusky corners of remote chapels until my friends arrived.

"We'll find out when the Duke and his mother take Lady Monica to look at the cathedral," said the girl, delighting in her own ingenuity; "and then we'll start too. Though we can't bear the Duke, we've always been civil to him and his mother whenever we've met in Madrid, praise the saints, so they can't be rude to us now. If we go up and speak, they'll have to introduce us to Lady Vale-Avon and Lady Monica. I shall take a _great_ fancy at first sight to Lady Monica, of course; and I shouldn't wonder if I can make her like _me_. The rest will be easy for the whole trip. Oh, we shall have fun!"

I began to think we should, and that, thanks to a girl's counter-plotting, I should have pretty plain sailing in spite of Carmona. But because I began to see land ahead, I was the more anxious to give Monica peace of mind; and when we said good-night to the O'Donnels about half-past ten, I set out to carry through the plan I had thought of before dinner.

On the wall of the landlord's office, off the main hall, I had seen a guitar hanging. It belonged to his son, a romantic-looking young fellow, whose sympathetic soul delighted in lending the national aid to courtship, without asking a single question.

I would be no true Spaniard if I could not play the guitar; and in fact my mother had given me some dexterity with the instrument, before I was ten years old. I had neglected it for years; nevertheless, my fingers had but to touch the strings to be on friendly terms with them.

Madrid and Seville would probably be waking up to fullest life at this hour; but in provincial towns one goes to bed early because there is nothing more amusing to do.

At eleven the windows of the princ.i.p.al hotel were dark; and without being stared at curiously by any pa.s.ser-by, I stationed myself under the first floor balconies, with my guitar.

I did not know which room was Monica's, but I did know that it could not be far away; and I counted on the chance that anxious thoughts might keep her from sleeping soundly.

Softly, and then more boldly, I began to thrum the air of the Hungarian waltz which they had played that night at the d.u.c.h.ess of Carmona's, while I told Monica I loved her. Often its pa.s.sionate refrain had echoed in my ears since, and brought the scene before me. I hoped that Monica also might remember.

Five minutes pa.s.sed, and still I played on, yet nothing happened. Then, when I had begun to fear failure, I heard a faint sound overhead. A window was opening. There was no gleam of light, no whisper; but something soft and small fell close to my feet. I stooped and picked it up. It was a rose, weighted by a grey suede glove, tied round the stem; and the glove was scented with orris, the same delicate fragrance which had come to me when I kissed Monica's hand, and her letters.

She had had my message, and answered it.