"Ha! ha! Mere sham. I was bound to have you in one way, if I could
not get you in another. All's fair in love and war. You made war. I
made love."

There was an explosion of wrath, of scorn, of hate; there were tears,
cries, prayers, threats, promises. Count Almonte merely laughed,
and left the young woman to weep herself into a state of resignation
or exhaustion.

Mantanez, the boatman, learned before long that the shop was closed,
and naturally fearing that Miralda had been taken ill, he hurried
around to make inquiry. What he heard was disquieting enough, but he
could not, would not believe it, until he had gone to Cerito to see
for himself. In the gown of a monk he gained access to the grounds,
and walked slowly by, singing the verse of a song that Miralda liked,
meanwhile scanning the windows closely. His heart gave a leap, and then
sank miserably low, for his love appeared behind the bars of an upper
window. She stretched her hands to him appealingly, told him in a few
half-whispered words the story of her abduction, implored him to hurry
back to town, put the case before General Tacon and demand justice.

Mantanez did so. The tale was so unusual that the general made him
swear to the truth of it on his knees before the crucifix. Then he
sent for the count and ordered him to bring the girl with him. In
two hours they were at the palace. The general looked searchingly at
Almonte. "It is a strange charge that has been brought against you,
count," said he, "that of stealing a woman in open day, taking her
to your house and keeping her under lock and key."

"The young woman has been well treated, general."

"You arrested her?"

"Yes."

"In our uniform?"

"It was the only way. I loved her."

"You still love her?"

"To distraction."

"Humph! We shall see. Orderly, send a priest to me, and tell him to
come prepared to perform a marriage ceremony."

Tacon was sphinx-like, and busied himself with his papers. The count
was puzzled, yet smiling, and disposed to be incredulous. The girl
and her lover wore looks of doubt and fear. The priest arrived.

"Father," said Tacon, "you will make the Count Almonte and Miralda
Estalez man and wife."

"Impossible!" exclaimed the count.

"You have just said that you loved her."

"But, your Excellency, you seem to forget that she is but a girl of
the people. I have to remind you that I am of the Spanish nobility;
that my ancestors--"

"Tush, tush! What have your a