I knew what I was expected to do, the ’Gnome’ was at my side looking anxiously at me, so I nodded to him, pointed across the square, and began forcing my way among them in the direction they ought to go. The ’Gnome’ sang out half-a-dozen orders in a stentorian voice, and the whole, huge, half-terrified, half fierce-looking mob came along after us, as good as gold. Well, that was simply another triumphal procession for Gerald; the little _machetos_ were all round me, they fought for the honour of leading my horse, and, thank goodness, I got them out of the square and the city without anything going wrong. Old Zorilla had evidently gone ahead of me and hidden away all the regulars, for there wasn’t one to be seen. We marched through absolutely deserted streets, and though the little brown men hesitated a moment, and began to look troubled and suspicious, when, at last, we came to the barracks, the smell of the food was so tempting that they poured in after me. It was a huge rambling barracks, with an enormous parade-ground, crowded with tables, and an army of timid-looking people was waiting to serve food. I stayed there half an hour till the little brown chaps had forgotten all their grievances and suspicions, and then I bolted back to the palace, where the official banquet was to be held, and got through that all right, being placed among the foreign Ministers, who, of course, knew whom I was, and had heard of Gerald having been shot. Mr. Arnstein, in his gorgeous uniform, bent over to tell me that he’d heard that the operation was going on all right, so that I was quite happy. Every one was awfully nice to me about Gerald, and about my having taken his place successfully, but after lunch I wanted to get away, though I could not do so, for some time, because of every one wanting to congratulate me. Captain Roger Hill actually came up, too, but I’d been Gerald all the morning, I still had his clothes on, and, somehow or other, I felt like him and was very ’stand off the grass’ when he tried to patronise me. Fortunately, old Zorilla came to the rescue, his eyes gleaming very curiously, and he led me away to where a closed carriage was waiting. We drove away from the palace, and when we’d got some distance off, he put his hand inside his tunic and pulled out—what do you think?—a blue packet—another of those warrants—and handed it to me. It was the exact counterpart of the one which I had torn up that day in the Hotel de l’Europe, with Gerald’s name written in among the printing, only this had Alvarez de Costa scrawled across the bottom instead of José Canilla. Phew! my heart began thumping and I caught my breath for a moment, but Zorilla took it out of my hands, shrugged his shoulders, and began tearing it into little bits and throwing them out of the carriage window, one by one. I simply hugged his thin old hand.