"A general invitation has been sent to the officers of his regiment. I inclosed it myself, but I have sworn to touch these matters no more. This Volnais obscured my faculties so much yesterday, that I enclosed cards to dons which were written to donnas, to dukes that were written to plain senores, and _vice versa_. I will leave these matters to you Mac, and Stuart my subaltern; while, as president of the committee, I will smoke my cigar and drink with you, so long as the Volnais lasts. _A-propos_,—push the decanters this way!" "So the condé has left the staff," observed Stuart. "He belongs now to the 4th Spanish infantry; they are with De Costa’s brigade." "Here is a card for Senores the four most worshipful alcaldes of Aranjuez." "What is the use of asking these people to a ball?" said Seaton. "Nothing more than mechanical citizens, whose blowsy wives and daughters will be intruding themselves, bedizened in the dresses of the last century." "It is impossible to pass them over, and vulgarity may be excused in a magistrate. Here are invitations for the 10th Portuguese, for the Catalonian Caçadores, the 39th and 66th British, and all the cavalry brigades. Now, then, for the ladies." "God bless them!" "_Amen!_ Seaton. Donna Isabel de Campo and her four daughters. These people live near this, do they not?" "No; in the marble square, three doors from the palace D’Alarino. Two of the light dragoons are quartered there, and a pleasant time they seem to have of it, as the five donnas spend the day in flirting, waltzing, or twanging the guitar and piano. And then mamma, although a little old and stale, is of a very gay disposition." "A comprehensive phrase in Spain. You are a most gossiping fellow, Seaton. It is a marvel to me how you learn the history of people as you do. Don Felix Joaquin, knight of Calatrava,"[*] continued Alister, reading from the list. [*] This order still exists, and is possessed of fifty-six commanderies, and sixteen priories in Spain. "A base rogue," was Seaton’s comment, "and one who kissed King Joseph’s hand, the day before he fled to Valencia. You, as a true knight of Santiago, should certainly break his head for him, Stuart." "Thank you: I shall not take the trouble. Read on, Macdonald." "The very noble cavalier,—what a most unpronouncible name,—Don Zunasbul Ascasibur de Yñürritegui." "A fellow as mad as Cuesta himself! Invite him, by all means." "He is my _patron_," said Ronald, "a fine old fellow,—a true Spaniard of the old school; and, like Cuesta, sticks to the plumed beaver and slashed doublet of his grandfather’s days. Who comes next?" "Micer Astuto Rubio, and his lady." "Pshaw!" said Seaton, "an _abogado_; in other words, a rogue. _Astuto?_ ah, he is well named; that is Spanish for craft or chicanery, of which he has as much, I believe, as any Edinburgh W.S." "Donna Elvira Moro, _Calle Mayor_. Any scandal about her, Seaton?"