“‘Yes,’ thought I, ‘there he is,--the only bar to my good fortune; were it not for him, I should not be long before I became possessor of this excellent old château, with a most indiscretionary power over the cellar. Don Mauricius Monsoon would speedily assume his place among the grandees of Portugal.’ “I know not how long my revery lasted, nor, indeed, how the evening passed; but I remember well the moon was up, and a sky, bright with a thousand stars was shining, as I sat beside the fair Donna Maria, endeavoring, with such Portuguese as it had pleased fate to bestow on me, to instruct her touching my warlike services and deeds of arms. The fourth bottle of port was ebbing beneath my eloquence, as responsively her heart beat, when I heard a slight rustle in the branches near. I looked, and, Heavens, what a sight did I behold! There was little Don Emanuel stretched upon the grass with his mouth wide open, his face pale as death, his arms stretched out at either side, and his legs stiffened straight out. I ran over and asked if he were ill, but no answer came. I lifted up an arm, but it fell heavily upon the ground as I let it go; the leg did likewise. I touched his nose; it was cold. “‘Hollo,’ thought I, ‘is it so? This comes of mixing water with your sherry. I saw where it would end.’ “Now, upon my life! I felt sorry for the little fellow; but somehow, one gets so familiarized with this sort of thing in a campaign that one only half feels in a case like this. “‘Yes,’ said I, ‘man is but grass; but I for one must make hay when the sun shines. Now for the Donna Maria,’--for the poor thing was asleep in the arbor all this while. “‘Donna,’ said I, shaking her by the elbow,--‘Donna, don’t be shocked at what I’m going to say.’ “‘Ah, General,’ said she, with a sigh, ‘say no more; I must not listen to you.’ “‘You don’t know that,’ said I, with a knowing look,--‘you don’t know that.’ “‘Why, what can you mean?’ “‘The little fellow is done for.’ For the port was working strong now, and destroyed all my fine sensibility. ‘Yes, Donna,’ said I, ‘you are free,’--here I threw myself upon my knees,--‘free to make me the happiest of commissaries and the jolliest grandee of Portugal that ever--’ “‘But Don Emanuel?’ “‘Run out, dry, empty,’ inverting a finished decanter to typify my words as I spoke. “‘He is not dead?’ said she, with a scream. “‘Even so,’ said I, with a hiccough! ‘ordered for service in a better world, where there are neither inspections nor arrears.’