“Perfectly.”  She nodded, as if she had made quite sure of what he had explained.  Then she put up her hands, as if to say good-by.  “Oh, if we could only stay here in peace!” she cried.

He said nothing, for he knew that there was still much danger, and he was anxious for her.  He only pressed her hands and then led her away.  They followed the corridor together, side by side, to the turning.  Then he whispered to her to drop behind, and she let him go on a dozen paces and followed him.  The way was long, and ill lighted at intervals by oil lamps hung from the vault by small chains; they cast a broad black shadow beneath them, and shed a feeble light above.  Several times persons passed them, and Dolores’ heart beat furiously.  A court lady, followed by a duenna and a serving-woman, stopped with a winning smile, and dropped a low courtesy to Don John, who lifted his cap, bowed, and went on.  They did not look at Dolores.  A man in a green cloth apron and loose slippers, carrying five lighted lamps in a greasy iron tray, passed with perfect indifference, and without paying the least attention to the victor of Granada.  It was his business to carry lamps in that part of the palace—­he was not a human being, but a lamplighter.  They went on, down a short flight of broad steps, and then through a wider corridor where the lights were better, though the night breeze was blowing in and made them flicker and flare.

A corporal’s guard of the household halberdiers came swinging down at a marching step, coming from the terrace beyond.  The corporal crossed his halberd in salute, but Don John stopped him, for he understood at once that a sentry had been set at his door.

“I want no guard,” he said.  “Take the man away.”

“The General ordered it, your Highness,” answered the man, respectfully.

“Request your captain to report to the General that I particularly desire no sentinel at my door.  I have no possessions to guard except my reputation, and I can take care of that myself.”  He laughed good-naturedly.

The corporal grinned—­he was a very dark, broad-faced man, with high cheek bones, and ears that stuck out.  He faced about with his three soldiers, and followed Don John to the terrace—­but in the distance he had seen the hooded figure of a woman.

Not knowing what to do, for she had heard the colloquy, Dolores stood still a moment, for she did not care to pass the soldiers as they came back.  Then she turned and walked a little way in the other direction, to gain time, and kept on slowly.  In less than a minute they returned, bringing the sentinel with them.  She walked slowly and counted them as they went past her—­and then she started as if she had been stung, and blushed scarlet under her hood, for she distinctly heard the big corporal laugh to himself when he had gone by.  She knew, then, how she trusted the man she loved.