At the señora’s name Pedro opened his mouth, pushed back his chair, and sat looking at the cavalier in manifest disquiet. "Bolio!" he whispered. "Bolio! Dost know her, _Señor Teniente_?" "No. What of her?" demanded Cristoval, remembering that certain of his recruits had heard her name with similar uneasiness. "I saw her only for a moment when we came ashore yesterday. Dost know her, thou?" Pedro turned away with a gesture as if to wave him off. He faced about. "Do I know her! Warily and charily, señor—as a pup knoweth the family cat! Ah, _Madre_! Lieutenant Cristoval, she hath a tongue like a flail—like a red-hot rapier. Thou shouldst hear her storm—at some other man—when she is roused! Nay, smile not! I once heard her berating her servants, and they wilted, withered, shrivelled like spiders on a hot skillet. Ah, stew me! Bolio!" "Thou dost stir mine interest, Pedro," said Cristoval. "Who is the lady?" Pedro laid a broad hand upon the table with suppressed vehemence. "Bolio!" he replied, as if nothing could be added. "I know little save from hearsay, señor," he continued; "she was a _vivandera_ with the armies in Italy in her youth. Thou knowest that training. _Diablo_! I saw her in the Neapolitan campaign against Louis XII." Cristoval interrupted. "What! Didst serve with Gonsalvo?" "With the Great Captain," said Pedro. "Then, by Saint Michael, we were comrades!" Pedro nodded without surprise, and continued quickly: "She had beauty then, señor. Poor girl! She was learning, by hard experience, to hold all men her enemies. She hath not forgotten. I heard of her again in the campaign of ’22, and again at Pavia, where I left my leg. After that, no more until I found her here at Panama, two years ago. It is said she worked her way hither from Spain, disguised as a common sailor, and I doubt it not, for I have known of another woman who did as much. _Por cierto_, her eloquence was not gained in camps alone! It hath the savor of the sea as well, and she commandeth the most vigorous that each affordeth, my head upon it! But whatever her youth, Señor Cristoval, the saints preserve the man who would turn a soft eye upon her to-day. She weigheth, I should guess, some twelve or fourteen stone. ’T is all hostility!" Cristoval reflectively gathered up his papers. "Well," he said, "we can pray for peace. Let us go." "Whither?" asked Pedro. "To the señora’s." "_Misericordia_! I think I had best ride back to my _hacienda_ for the night, _Señor Teniente_." "How far?" asked Cristoval. "Three leagues or less." "Absurd, Pedro! Thou ’rt to begin thy duties in the morning. Come."