"Yes," answered Marcos. "And it is the only room in the house that has been done. I looked into the others to see--into your great barrack, and into Marcos' room at the end of the balcony. I have guessed why Marcos has that room ..." "Why?" he asked. "So that you can see down the valley--so that Perro who sleeps on the balcony outside the open window has merely to lift his head to look right down to where the other watch-dogs are, ten miles away." After dinner, Juanita discovered that there was a new piano in the drawing-room, in addition to a number of those easier chairs which our grandmothers never knew. Cousin Peligros protested that they were unnecessary and even conducive to sloth and indolence. Still protesting, she took the most comfortable and sat with folded hands listening to Juanita finding out the latest waltz, with variations of her own, on the new piano. Sarrion and Marcos were on the terrace smoking. The small new moon was nearing the west. The night would be dark after its setting. They were silent, listening to the voice of their ancestral river as it growled, heavy with snow, through the defile. Presently a servant brought coffee and told Marcos that a messenger was waiting to deliver a note. After the manner of Spain the messenger was invited to come and deliver his letter in person. He was a traveling knife-grinder, he explained, and had received the letter from a man on the road whose horse had gone lame. One must be mutually helpful on the road. The letter was from Zeneta at the end of the valley; written hastily in pencil. The Carlists were in force between him and Pampeluna; would Marcos ride down to the camp and hear details? Marcos rose at once and threw his cigarette away. He looked towards the lighted windows of the drawing-room. "No good saying anything about it," he said. "I shall be back by breakfast time. They will probably not notice my absence." He was gone--the sound of his horse's feet was drowned in the voice of the river--before Juanita came out to the terrace, a slim shadowy form in her white evening dress. She stood for a minute or two in silence, until, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, she perceived Sarrion and an empty chair. Perro usually walked gravely to her and stood in front of her awaiting a jest whenever she came. She looked round. Perro was not there. "Where is Marcos?" she asked, taking the empty chair. "He has been sent for to the valley. He has gone." "Gone!" echoed Juanita, standing up again. She went to the stone balustrade of the terrace and looked over into the darkness. "I heard him cross the bridge a few minutes ago," Sarrion said quietly. "He might have said good-bye." Sarrion turned slowly in his chair and looked at her. "He probably did not wish his comings and goings to be talked of by Cousin Peligros," he suggested. "Still, he might have said good-bye ... to me."