"Although being so tipsy that I could scarcely know whether my head or heels were uppermost, I can still remember the terrible expression depicted in the faces of these two ladies. The mother's wore the fury and rage of a tigress; the blood seemed to boil in the swollen veins of her temples, and her large black Spanish eyes shot fire from time to time as she surveyed us. Her daughter's appeared the very reverse, and her face expressed only the darkness of despair. "She was very beautiful; her long black hair was loosened from its braids, and hung matted in disorder about her shoulders, and half concealed her face, which was pale as death. Her eyes--you will remember the splendid eyes of the Spanish girls--her eyes were bloodshot and red with weeping; their expression was wild, wandering, insane; and there was a chilling air of desolation and abandonment in her grief that had, indeed, a very considerable effect on me (for I am not altogether such a bad fellow as monsieur may suppose me), although her utter despair had none on Chataigneur and my more intoxicated companions. "Her lips were quivering, and her graceful Spanish dress, her long veil particularly, was torn to ribands. "'Messieurs,' said Chataigneur, bowing with an air of mock politeness; 'I am permitted to have the high honour of introducing you to the notice of Donna Elvira de Almeria, widow of a very brave Caballero y Procuradore of new Castile, and her daughter the enchanting Virginia, whom, as I have two ladies who equally claim the title of Madame la Colonel, I shall advance to the ancient Spanish dignity of being my Barragano,* which will square all matters between us, so Vive la joie! let us drink and be merry!' * See "Essayo Historico Critico on the Ancient Legislation, &c., &c., of Castile and Leon," 4to., Madrid, 1808, for this term. "The eyes of the Spaniards absolutely glared as he spoke." "The scoundrel!" I exclaimed, becoming excited by this revolting narrative. "Would to heaven that I had been there with a few of my English hussars." "That would have availed little," replied St. Florian, pouring out his wine with slow sang froid; "every street and house within the trenches was swarming with our soldiers; and such scenes as that I have described were innumerable." "Excuse me, Monsieur le Capitaine; but I must pronounce your comrade to have been a finished rascal." "Peste!" muttered the Frenchman, half angrily; and then he continued, while laughing and twirling his moustache, "Opinion is the queen of the world--'t is a proverb we have, and a true one. But poor Chataigneur is gone now, and I must not hear him abused.