Pirli, whose grotesque figure began in a French engineer and ended in a Spanish friar, was the most carried away of any of the dancers, and could not keep tune with his partner, a most graceful girl in Spanish highland dress, who was called Manuela, whom I noticed the first moment that I saw her. She was about twenty-two years of age, and was slender, of a pure pale complexion. The excitement of the dance quickly flushed her cheeks, and by degrees her movements grew more lively, unmindful of fatigue. With her eyes half shut, her cheeks rosy, her arms moving to the music of the sweet strains, she shook her skirts with lively grace; taking her steps lightly, and presenting to us now her brow, and now her shoulders, Manuela held us enchanted. The ardor of the dancing crowd, the lively music, and the enthusiasm of the rest of the dancers augmented her own, until at last, breathless with fatigue, she dropped her arms and fell to earth like a stone or a pomegranate. Pirli stood over her, and surrounded her by a sort of corral formed of himself and the basket of provisions. "Let us see what you have brought us, Manuelilla," said Pirli. "If 'twere not for thee and Father Busto, we should die of hunger. And if it were not for this little dance with which we get rid of the bad taste of the 'hot cakes' and the 'señoras,' what would become of us poor soldiers?" "I bring you whatever there is," replied Manuela, opening the basket of provisions. "Wait a little. If the siege lasts, you will be eating bricks." "We shall have bullets mixed with black flour," said Pirli. "Manuelilla, have you got over being afraid of the bullets yet?" Saying this, he seized his gun, and shot it off into the air. The girl gave a sharp scream, and, startled, sprang up as if to escape. "It is nothing, daughter," said the friar; "brave women are not afraid of powder. On the contrary, they should take as much pleasure in it as in the sound of castanets and mandolins." "When I hear a ball," said Manuela, coming slowly and timidly back, "there is not a drop of blood left in my veins." At this moment the French, wishing to try the artillery of their second parallel, shot off a cannon, and the ball came against the wall of the redoubt, shattering the loose bricks into a thousand pieces. Everybody rose to look at the enemy. The highland girl cried out in terror; and Tio Garces was moved to scream through a loop-hole at the French, heaping upon them the most insolent words, accompanied by many exclamations. The little dog, running from one end of the place to the other, barked furiously. "Manuela, let us dance another jota to the sound of this music, and viva the Virgin del Pilar," cried Pirli, jumping about like one out of his senses.