‘There is one advantage in a soldier’s life,’ he said, smiling at Conyngham, ‘which is not, I think, sufficiently recognised—namely, that one’s duty is so often clearly defined. At the present moment it is a question of keeping up the deception we have practised upon these good people of Toledo sufficiently long to enable the Queen Regent to reach Madrid. In order to make certain of this we must lead the people to understand that the Queen is in this house until, at least, daylight. Given so much advantage, I think that her Majesty can reach the capital an hour before any messenger from Toledo. Two horsemen quitted the Bridge of Alcantara as we crossed it, riding towards Madrid; but they will not reach the capital—I have seen to that.’ He paused and walked to one of the long windows, which he opened. The outer shutters remained closed, and he did not unbar them, but stood listening. ‘All is still as yet,’ he said, returning to the table, where Father Concha was philosophically cutting up a cold chicken. ‘That is a good idea of yours,’ he said. ‘We may all require our full forces of mind and body before the dawn.’ He drew forward a chair, and Estella, obeying his gesture, sat down and so far controlled her feelings as to eat a little. ‘Do queens always feed on old birds such as this?’ asked Concha discontentedly; and Vincente, spreading out his napkin, laughed with gay good humour. ‘Before the dawn,’ he said to Conyngham, ‘we may all be great men, and the good Concha here on the high road to a bishopric.’ ‘He would rather be in bed,’ muttered the priest, with his mouth full. It was a queer scene, such as we only act in real life. The vast room, with its gorgeous hangings, the flickering candles, the table spread with delicacies, and the strange party seated at it—Concha eating steadily, the General looking round with his domesticated little smile, Estella with a new light in her eyes and a new happiness on her face, Conyngham, a giant among these southerners, in his dust-laden uniform—all made up a picture that none forgot. ‘They will probably attack this place,’ said the General, pouring out a glass of wine; ‘but the house is a strong one. I cannot rely on the regiments stationed at Toledo, and have sent to Madrid for cavalry. There is nothing like cavalry—in the streets. We can stand a siege—till the dawn.’ He turned, looking over his shoulder towards the door; for he had heard a footstep unnoticed by the others. It was Concepçion Vara who came into the room, coatless, his face grey with dust, adding a startling and picturesque incongruity to the scene. ‘Pardon, Excellency,’ he said, with that easy grasp of the situation which always made an utterly unabashed smuggler of him, ‘but there is one in the house whom I think his Excellency should speak with.’ ‘Ah!’ ‘The Señorita Barenna.’ The General rose from the table. ‘How did she get in here?’ he asked sharply.