Pedro and Alisanda while they were journeying
through his country."

"Believe me, senora," I protested, "what little I was able to do fell
far short of the favors I received."

"One word or glance from Senorita Vallois were worth the service of a
lifetime!" put in Walker.

My feeling went too deep for verbal compliments. I stood dumb, and
watched Walker receive a smile over my lady's fan that repaid him a
hundredfold. The others were now moving toward the end of the _sala_,
where were grouped three or four low divans. Alisanda glided after Dona
Dolores, and Walker promptly stepped out beside her. I followed last of
all, too fearful of another false move to force myself forward.

Yet somehow, when we came to seat ourselves, I was delighted to find
myself beside Alisanda at the end of the divan, while Walker was hedged
off from her on the other side by Dona Dolores. As the plump little
senora chose to tuck up her limbs Turk-fashion, the interval was not
narrow. Walker had to perch on the extreme far corner of the divan.

Malgares and our host sat across from us, while Dona Marguerite reclined
upon the third divan. Alisanda was the only one of the ladies who sat
upright. She did not look at me. But for the moment it was enough that
her shoulder touched my arm.

When all were settled, Malgares plunged into his account, which he
rendered in a crisp, clear French that made every statement stand out
like a cameo. First of all he gave a brief and modest recital of his own
remarkable expedition, dwelling strongest upon his arrangements with the
savages to stop us; the vast extent of the all but treeless prairies,
and the grandeur of the mighty snow mountains of the North.

He then described how our little party had come to the Pawnees and
braved their might; how, late as was the season, we had pushed on
westward, and how, in the midst of the midwinter's cold, we had
clambered about among those huge sierras of rock and snow. As told by
him, the account drew _bravo_ after _bravo_ from the little audience.
When he described our ascent of what we had supposed to be the Grand
Peak, Alisanda flashed at me a glance that put me into a glow of bliss.
Malgares was a flattering historian. But he was not satisfied with his
own efforts. When it came to the descent of the terrific gorge of the
Arkansas by Brown and myself, he broke off in the midst and insisted
upon my picturing that awful canyon in my own words.

"_Nada_," I hesita