The officers on parole uncovered their heads on passing the young lady, who now, when her terror was over, began naturally to feel abashed and confused to find herself leaning on an officer’s arm on a military parade, exposed to the gaze of several regiments. "Oh, I trust he has escaped; ’twere a thousand pities if so sprightly a soldado should be injured." "On my word, if you take so great an interest in this rash Frenchman, I shall feel quite jealous." "You have no reason, senor. I tell you I never wish to see his face again, though it is a very handsome one," responded the donna with an air of pique, while a purple blush crossed her features. "Holy Mary, would I had my veil here! To be thus gazed at—" "Here comes one may give us some information. Macdonald, where is the French commandant,—D’Estouville; the young man with the bear-skin cap and crimson feather?" "With his fathers, I believe, poor fellow. He was a gallant soldier as ever drew sword," replied Alister, who at that moment came past and paid his respects to Donna Catalina, whom he was not a little surprised to see amidst the ranks of the Highlanders leaning on Ronald’s arm, while her long beautiful tresses streamed about like those of some wood-nymph or goddess. "I rejoice to see you in safety, senora. I heard of your being in the hands of the enemy,—indeed it made so deep an impression on my _bon camarade_, that he could not keep it a secret. Faith, Stuart," he added in a whisper, "you have picked up something more precious than a skin of Malaga, or a keg of French _eau de vie_." "Stay, Alister," replied the other, with an air of displeasure; "a truce to raillery. I am sorry to see you wounded." "A few inches of skin ripped up,—a mere nothing," said Macdonald, whose arm was slung in his sash. "I received it from the bayonet of a fine old grenadier, whom Angus Mackie has sent to his long home." "Well, but the commandant—" "Poor fellow! I am sorry for his fate,—he seemed so gallant and reckless." "The devil, man! what has happened?" "Have you not heard?" "No: he yielded himself to me, with permission to retain his sword." "Better had he tossed it into the Tagus! Scarcely had you left him, when up came that fiery borderer Armstrong, of the 71st, (at least I have heard that it was Armstrong,) demanding his sword, not being aware of the terms on which he had rendered himself prisoner. The Frenchman, D’Estouville I think you call him, either could not or would not comprehend him; and Armstrong, by a single stroke of his sword, cleft his skull through the thick grenadier cap." An exclamation of rage and impatience broke from Ronald, and of pity from Catalina, who clasped her hands and raised her dark melancholy eyes to heaven, while he cast an angry and searching glance along the ranks of the Highland Light Infantry.