At length a passage was made through the dense column by the arrival of an important personage,—the corregidor, or chief magistrate of the city, surrounded by several alguazils in broad-leaved sombreros, wearing the livery of the city, and armed with long halberts, or Spanish blunderbusses with brass bell-mouths. The corregidor was a grave old hidalgo, wearing a large military cocked-hat and long moustaches twisted up to his ears; he was muffled in a large brown cloak, and smoked his cigar, while he surveyed with an unmoved eye the crowd, where almost every face wore the expression of terror, rage, impatience, and dismay. However, all fell back on the right and left, as his old-fashioned coach, with its emblazoned coats armorial, and drawn by a single mule, advanced towards the gate. Mounted on another mule rode a livery servant, wearing a red feather in his sombrero, a stiletto in his sash, and armed with an enormous whip, which was never a moment idle, being continually at work either among the people to make them give way, or on his cattle to make them increase their speed, and place as great a distance as possible between himself and the dreaded legions of France. This servant rode alongside of the mule which drew the vehicle, leading it by the bridle, the usual custom in Spain, and one which is truly very awkward and unsightly. At the gate of the garden Ronald was met by the young ladies, who both advanced hastily towards him, exclaiming, "O Don Ronald! have you heard—" "They are in sight—" "_O Madre de Dios!_ you will be either killed, or taken a prisoner over the Pyrenees to France." "To escape either of these fates, I must bid you instantly adieu, senoritas,—unless you will consent to retire with me from Merida, which will scarcely be a safe place for you while the French are in it. The advancing party are some of Dombrouski’s Polish lancers, who are not famous for their sentiments either of chivalry or gentle courtesy. They are rough dogs, I understand; and in gallantry, are far inferior to the brave cavalry of France." "Oh, they are sad fellows, these lancers, and wear frightful whiskers; but we do not fear them, senor," replied Inesella in her usual laughing tone. "You must know that the Condé d’Erlon, who is one of my many most humble and devoted admirers, gave me a written protection the last time he was here, and all soldiers who march under the tri-colour of France, must respect and obey it; therefore we do not fear them—quite the reverse. Some of the French are very gay cavaliers, and I knew a very handsome chasseur—— But, pho! poor fellow! he was assassinated with some others at Albuquerque." "Then, Donna Inesella, you fear not to remain. And will your letter protect your cousin?" "O yes, senor, it protects all who are with me; but of course you—" "Must depart at once." "Exactly, senor; old D’Erlon’s letter will not protect you, who are his enemy."