plaza. Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the town, but the
aristocratic quarter was very quiet, and she walked unmolested to the
house of General Castro. The door was open, and she went down the long
hall to the sleeping room of Doña Modeste. There was no response to her
knock, and she pushed open the door and entered. The room was dimly lit
by the candles on the altar. Doña Modeste was not in the big mahogany
bed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Doña Eustaquia
crossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms the small figure
kneeling there.

"Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, and
thou art better in bed or with thy friends."

Doña Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, but took Doña
Eustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. Her white skin shone in the dim
light, and with her black hair and green tragic eyes made her look like
a little witch queen, for neither suffering nor humiliation could bend
that stately head.

"Religion is my solace," she said, "my only one; for I have not a brain
of iron nor a soul of fire like thine. And, Eustaquia, I have more cause
to pray to-night."

"It is true, then, that José is in retreat? Ay, Mary!"

"My husband, deserted by all but one hundred men, is flying southward
from San Juan Bautista. I have it from the wash-tub mail. That never is
wrong."

"Ingrates! Traitors! But it is true, Modeste--surely, no?--that our