Three or four minutes passed. A funereal silence characterised the attentive crowd of the Montoneros. It is always a serious matter, that condemnation to death, pronounced coldly, resolutely, and without appeal, even for men habituated to stake their lives on the hazard of a die, like those who were assisting at this scene; thus, in spite of themselves, they felt themselves seized with a secret fright, increased by the doleful sounds of the voice of the wretch who was writhing with fear in their midst, and imploring with sobs the pity of their chief. The latter turned round, and making a sign to Captain Quiroga-- "It is time," said he. "¡Caray!" said the captain; "The pícaro has been long enough seeking the gallows; he will not have cheated it, that will be at least a satisfaction for him in his last moments." This singular speech on the part of a man who spoke so little as a rule, astonished everybody, and suddenly changing the course of ideas among the company, caused them to burst out into mocking laughter and jests directed to the condemned, who from that time lost all hope. A soldier had mounted a tree a few paces off, and had attached his lasso to the principal branch. The captain ordered that the spy should be led under the tree, and a running knot was cast around his neck. "Stop!" cried the lady prisoner, suddenly interposing; "That man is mine; take care what you are about to do." There was a moment of hesitation. The wretch drew breath again; he thought he was saved. "Take care yourself, Señora," harshly answered Zeno Cabral; "I alone command here." "I am the Marchioness de Castelmelhor," she resumed, "the wife of General Castelmelhor; each drop of blood of that man shall cost the lives of thousands of your countrymen." "You are a foreigner, Madame--the wife--you have said so yourself--of a Portuguese general, who has only entered our territory a few days since to ravage it. Think of yourself, and do not intercede anymore for that wretch." "But," said she, with bitter irony, "are you not a Portuguese yourself, Señor--a Portuguese by descent at least?" "Enough, Madame; from respect to yourself, do not insist any more. This man is guilty; he is condemned; he ought to die; he shall die." At this moment a second woman, who, up to this time, had remained unnoticed among the other prisoners, darted quickly forward, and seizing with a nervous gesture the arm of the general, while tears ran down her face, pale with emotion-- "And mine, Don Zeno," she cried, "and mine! If I asked pardon for that man, would you refuse me?" "Oh!" cried the general, with despair; "You here--you, Doña Eva!" "Yes, I--I, Don Zeno, who supplicate you by all you hold most dear, to pardon him."