Some days passed over, and there was no word of an insurrection. The conspirators were discouraged. Rumour spoke of dissensions among them. It was thought that nothing would occur. It was known to many that Dulce was of the conspiracy, and that, by his fault or will, a good opportunity had been lost; and they said that if he were not playing a double game, the government would certainly have heard of his complicity with O’Donnell, and would at least have removed him from his command. It was fact that, for some time past, anonymous letters had been received by the ministers, warning them that he was plotting against them. But they disbelieved this information, and some of the letters were even shown to Dulce. The Duke of Rianzares, calling one day on a minister, found Dulce there. “What is this that I hear, general?” said Queen Christina’s husband; “is it true that you intend to shoot us all?” The question was awkward, but easily parried. A few days before the insurrection occurred, Dulce went over to Alcala, five leagues from Madrid, under pretence of inspecting the recruits stationed there. Seven squadrons of cavalry were in that town. Doubtless his object was to see if he could still reckon upon their following him whithersoever he chose to lead. I met him in the street after his return; I think it was on the 26th of June. He looked anxious and careworn. His position was certainly critical, and it is not presuming too much to suppose that a severe struggle was going on within him between a long habit of military discipline and duty, and what we must in justice believe to have been, in his opinion, a paramount duty to his oppressed country. For he was at the top of the tree. His position was splendid; his emoluments were large; he had but to persevere in his adherence to the government of the day to attain to the very highest rank in his profession—although that did not afford a more desirable place than the one he already occupied. Under these circumstances, even his enemies must admit—however guilty they may deem him—that he was not actuated by the selfish desire of personal advantage or aggrandisement.