‘See,’ he said, ‘the square is full of them.’ He came back into the room, and Conyngham, standing beside him, looked down into the moonlit Plaza. The square was, indeed, thronged with dark and silent shadows, while others, stealing from the doorways and narrow alleys with which Toledo abounds, joined the groups with stealthy steps. No one spoke, though the sound of their whispering arose in the still night air like the murmur of a breeze through reeds. A hundred faces peered upwards through the darkness at the two intrepid figures on the balcony. ‘And these are Spaniards, my dear Conyngham,’ whispered the General. ‘A hundred of them against one woman. Name of God! I blush for them.’ The throng increased every moment, and withal the silence never lifted, but brooded breathlessly over the ancient town. Instead of living men, these might well have been the shades of the countless and forgotten dead who had come to a violent end in the streets of a city where Peace has never found a home since the days of Nebuchadnezzar. Vincente came back into the room, leaving shutter and window open. ‘They cannot see in,’ he said, ‘the building is too high. And across the Plaza there is nothing but the Cathedral, which has no windows accessible without ladders.’ He paused, looking at his watch. ‘They are in doubt,’ he said, speaking to Conyngham. ‘They are not sure that the Queen is here. We will keep them in doubt for a short time. Every minute lost by them is an inestimable gain to us. That open window will whet their curiosity, and give them something to whisper about. It is so easy to deceive a crowd.’ He sat down and began to peel a peach. Julia looked at him, wondering wherein this man’s greatness lay, and yet perceiving dimly that, against such as he, men like Esteban Larralde could do nothing. Concha, having supped satisfactorily, was now sitting back in his chair seeking for something in the pockets of his cassock. ‘It is to be presumed,’ he said, ‘that one may smoke—even in a palace.’ And under their gaze he quietly lighted a cigarette with the deliberation of one in whom a long and solitary life had bred habits only to be broken at last by death. Presently the General rose and went to the window again. ‘They are still doubtful,’ he said, returning, ‘and I think their numbers have decreased. We cannot allow them to disperse.’ He paused, thinking deeply. ‘My child,’ he said suddenly to Estella, ‘you must show yourself on the balcony.’ Estella rose at once; but Julia held her back. ‘No,’ she said; ‘let me do it. Give me the white mantilla.’