"I had been severely wounded by the poniard of a villanous Spanish peasant, and was still suffering from its effects. Ah, it was quite a story, that affair; my evil eye brought it all about." "Your evil eye?" "Ah," he replied, laughing; "you would not think I had one, to look at me--I seem so innocent; but so I have, or, at least, had when I was in Spain; ha! ha! You have often heard the Spaniards speak of the Evil Eye--the Malocchio of the Italians? and how the women will veil themselves, cover up their children, and mutter a prayer if a stranger but glances at them." "I have heard of that superstition, when on the borders of Estremadura; but your affair--" "Listen, and fill your glass with the champagne--I call it 'The Evil Eye.'--'T is a perfect romance, and was well known to many a brave fellow of the 23rd, who has found his grave at the foot of Mont St. Jean." CHAPTER XXI. THE WIDOW; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT. "I was quartered with my company of grenadiers at El Puerto, a wretched village in Andalusia; a poor place it was, that had been rifled by our foragers a dozen times, and we very unwisely made it still more miserable, by burning the best cottages before we were ordered to quit it. "I quartered myself on the best casa in the village, a red-tiled hut, that belonged to a strange-looking fellow, whose long visage and long legs, great black eyes, yellow trunk breeches, green doublet, and sugar-loaf hat, made him seem half muleteer, half gitano. I believe, from his superstitious observances, that he was the latter wholly. You will know, doubtless, how famous Andalusia is for its women and horses. Ha! I wish you had seen the wife of my long-legged patron. She had the beautiful eyes and olive skin of her native province, with teeth like pearls, lips like cherries, and a face full of the sweetness of the mildest Madonna. Ha! ha! I am growing quite poetical! but wine or love always make me so. You will never see, even on our Boulevards, and that is a bold assertion, a pair of more superb ankles, than the short red petticoats of that Andalusian woman revealed to the pure gaze of your most obedient servant. Peste! I was quite enchanted with my pretty patrona, and determined on sending her husband, tied across a mule, as a spy to the British lines, that so I might be rid of him for a time, or for ever.