“A strange doctrine for a Papist, who was always praying to him in bad Latin,” said L’Isle.  “That opinion savors of heresy, and deserved the notice of the Inquisition.”

“At all events,” said Lady Mabel, “it is best not to pray to him in bad Spanish.  But had I an opportunity of traveling through Spain and Portugal, and mixing freely with the people, I would show you how quickly both tongues could be mastered.”

“I see little chance of your having that opportunity soon,” said Mrs. Shortridge.

“I am afraid I must give up all hope of it.  The Santa Hermandad no longer keep the roads safe; and all the knights of Alcantara and Calatrava to boot, of these degenerate days, would afford but little protection to a demoiselle errante.”

“I will offer you a more trusty escort than that of those false knights,” said L’Isle.  “I will place myself and regiment at your command.”

“That is truly kind.  I accept the offer; and when I set out on my travels, will send you on with it a march or two ahead, to clear the way, and make all safe for us, while Mrs. Shortridge and myself will follow at ease with our civic retinue, confident that you will have removed every danger from the path!”

“That arrangement would make the journey less pleasant to me than I hoped to find it.”

“I thought your object was our safety, not your pleasure,” said Lady Mabel.

“And for my part,” said Mrs. Shortridge, “I do not care to travel any road which requires a regiment to make it safe.  I am inquisitive enough, but my fears would be stronger than my curiosity.”

“Well,” Lady Mabel said, “I begin to despair of ever gratifying my longing after a rambling life.  It is probably all for the best.  I dare say I would have become a mere vagabond.  But I had embraced a wide field in my contemplated travels:  romantic Spain, la belle France, classic Italy, and that dreamy, misty Faderland.  But I suppose that this war will last always, and for all practical purposes I may as well roll up the map of Europe.”

“Do you seriously imagine that this war will last forever?” L’Isle asked.

“Why not forever, or, at least, for a long life time?  It began before I was born, and may continue long after I am dead.  I have no recollection of a state of peace, to make me think it the natural condition of nations.”

“We are luckily not limited to our own experience in drawing our conclusions.  Take my word for it, these wars are drawing to a close.  I am only afraid that they will end before I am a Major-General.”

“Why!  Do you expect them to go on making a series of blunders at headquarters, like that in the affair of that unlucky Spanish village?”

“A series of blunders,” L’Isle answered, “would be quite in accordance with the routine at the war-office, at least.  So my expectations are not so unreasonable as you may imagine.”