She dropped her two hands heavily on the table and looked up as if expecting some exclamation of surprise or horror.  But her hearer made no sign.

“Did you know this?” she asked, in an altered voice after a pause.  “Are you in the plot, too, as well as Marcos and Uncle Ramon?  Have you been scheming all this time as well, that I should marry Marcos?”

“Since you ask me,” said Sor Teresa, slowly and coldly, “I think you would be happier married to Marcos than in religion.  It is only my opinion, of course, and you must decide for yourself.  It is probably the opinion of others, however, as well.  There are plenty of girls who ...”

“Oh! are there?” cried Juanita, passionately.  “Who—­I should like to know?”

“I am only speaking in generalities, my child.”

Juanita looked at her suspiciously, her April eyes glittering with a new light.

“I thought you meant Milagros.  He once said that he thought her pretty, and liked her hair.  It is red, everybody knows that.  Besides, we are married.”

She dropped her tired head upon her folded arms—­a schoolgirl attitude which returned naturally to her amid the old surroundings.

“I don’t care what becomes of me,” she said wearily.  “I don’t know what to do.  It is very hard that papa should be dead and Leon ...  Leon such a preposterous stupid.  You know he is.”

Sor Teresa did not deny this sisterly truth; but stood motionless, waiting for Juanita’s decision.

“I am so hungry and tired,” she said at length.  “I suppose I can have something to eat ... if I pay for it.”

“Yes; you can have something to eat.”

“And I may be allowed to stay here to-night, at all events.”

“No, you cannot do that,” answered the Sister Superior.

Juanita looked up in surprise.

“Then what am I to do?  Where am I to go?”

“Back to your husband,” was the reply in the same gentle, inexorable voice.  “I will take you back to Marcos—­that is all I will do for you.  I will take you myself.”

Juanita laughed scornfully and shook her head.  She had plenty of that spirit which will fight to the end and overcome fatigue and hunger.

“You may be mistress here,” she said.  “But I do not think you can deny me a lodging.  You cannot turn me out into the street.”

“Under exceptional circumstances I can do both.”

“Ah!” muttered Juanita, incredulously.

“And those circumstances have arisen.  There, you can satisfy yourself.”

She laid before Juanita, on the bare table, a paper which it was not possible to read in the semi-darkness.  She turned to the mantelpiece, where two tall candles added to the sacerdotal simplicity of the room.  While the sulphur match burnt blue, Juanita looked indifferently at the printed paper.

“It is a siege notice,” said Sor Teresa, seeing that her hearer refused to read.  “It is signed by General Pacheco, who arrived here with a large army to-day.  It is expected that Pampeluna may be besieged by to-morrow evening.  The investment may be a long one, which will mean starvation.  Every householder must make a return of those dwelling under his roof.  He must refuse domicile to any strangers; and I refuse to take you into this house.”