The din of combat died down. Jack had arrived at the Casa Ximenez, the scene of his adventure in the morning. Entering the house, he found many signs of its temporary occupation by the French, but the fighting had been so intense and so persistent that they had had no time to perpetrate the wanton mischief and destruction which usually marked their progress. Jack went through the house to make sure that none of the French were left, and, entering one of the rooms, he guessed by the character of its furniture and appointments that it belonged to the young lady whom he had assisted earlier in the day. The French had been so much occupied in the lower rooms that they had left this room untouched. There were a few trinkets on the dressing-table. Jack put these into his pocket, knowing that the Señorita would be glad to receive anything of value that could be rescued. Then, descending into the patio, he found that Tio Jorge had already told off a company of his men to occupy the house during the night, in preparation for the renewed attack which was undoubtedly to be expected in the morning. "Come, Señor," shouted the big fellow, "we will now go to the captain-general and tell him what we have done for Saragossa this day. And your part, por Dios! is one that no Saragossan will forget. Come!" They left the house. The sounds of bombardment and musketry had ceased; parties of the citizens were moving about collecting the dead and wounded; women and children were emerging for a breath of air from the close cellars in which they had sheltered during the day. As Tio Jorge and Jack passed into the street, they became aware, from the attitude of a group of soldiers and citizens all looking in one direction, that something unusual was attracting their attention. Looking up the street, towards the same end at which he had entered it nearly twelve hours before, Jack saw, by the light of the torches carried by search-parties, a small figure advancing—the figure of a boy, with a Frenchman’s képi many sizes too large for him almost obliterating his head, a Frenchman’s sword dangling from his belt, its point trailing a yard behind him along the cobbles, and a Frenchman’s musket weighing down his shoulder. The boy was staggering along under his burdens, yet contrived to maintain an air of jauntiness and assurance that held the Spaniards spell-bound with surprise and curiosity. "The imp again!" ejaculated Jack with a smile. The boy caught sight of him, and, endeavouring to hasten his step, tripped over his sword and fell headlong, rising a moment after without musket or képi, and revealing the swarthy face and unkempt hair of Pepito. "Here I am, Señor," he said with his enigmatical smile. "Not lost, Señor." "So I see. And what have you been doing? What do you mean by giving me the slip like that, and making me think the French had got you?"