"'Dog of a Frenchman! on the day you first came into my poor cottage the child was well and strong, for it was under the protection of the Blessed Virgin; but you turned an evil eye upon it, and, lo! it sickened; day by day it grew worse, and to-night it died: not even romero at its neck, nor the agua bendita on its brow, could shield it from your evil influence. Son of Satan, I spit upon you!' "'A pest upon your brat, you insolent madman,' said I, almost laughing, for the wine of the bodega had still its influence over me: 'had you said that I cast evil eyes on your wife, there might have been some truth in the matter; but your child--ha, ha!' and I laughed till the street of the Puebla rang again. 'Halloo, Sergeant Graule--quarter guard--ho, there!' and a dozen of my grenadiers rushed from a tavern to my assistance. "To Jean Graule's care I recommended the señor, and in five minutes, at the end of a tent cord, he swung from the chimney of a neighbouring house. "'Now, señor rascal,' said I, making him a mock bow, on leaving him in the grasp of the soldiers, 'I will go and console your pretty wife for the loss of her child, and more particularly that of her amiable spouse. Both are so easily replaced, that I would recommend you to die in peace, my jovial pagan.' "'My wife, my wife!' said he, in a terrible voice, striking his breast and looking upwards. 'El Santo de los Santos--Holy of Holies, forgive me.' "'Console yourself, my friend,' said I, while Jean Graule and the soldiers laughed till their belts nearly burst. 'Console yourself, señor paisano, for your little wife shall laugh and be merry to-night.' "'She waits you,' said he, with a frightful smile. Diable! methinks I can see his white face, as he grinned, like a shark, in the moonlight; 'She awaits you.' "Graule dragged him off. "I hurried to the cottage of the paisano; but, mon Dieu, what a sight awaited me! "On her bed, a miserable mat, lay the beautiful Andalusian girl, stone dead; stabbed by a poniard thrice in the neck, and her little infant, also dead, lay in her arms, pressed to her crimson bosom. In the first gust of my fury I rushed out to slay the jealous perpetrator of this horror; but he had, as I have already said, paid the debt of nature, and his dying form was wavering in the moonlight from the gable-end of a neighbouring house. "Bah! there is always something in this reminiscence that makes me dismal--but let me think no more of it." And draining his glass of champagne, the gay St. Florian began to hum an old camp song, beating time with his fingers on the well-polished table. Though this episode of his life rather decreased my admiration for this gay fellow, still the jaunty manner in which he related it somewhat amused me.