Mrs. Shortridge called out “robbers!” and entreated L’Isle to fire upon them.  The commissary, too, but more coolly, pronounced them to be robbers, “when they find an opportunity to follow that calling; but, just now, they are watching their flocks.”

“Shepherds! those ruffians, shepherds!” exclaimed Lady Mabel; “O! shades of Theocritus and Virgil, what a satire upon pastoral poetry!”

Shepherds, however, they were, who called off their dogs, after reconnoitring the party.  The arriero inquired of them where water was to be found, and they pointed to a little hollow in the wood, an hundred yards off.  He was leading the party that way, when L’Isle said to the ladies, “let us have a talk with these fellows.”

“Certainly,” said Lady Mabel, and she turned her horse’s head toward them.

“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Shortridge, and she reined her mule back, “I am too near them already.  I will not dare to take my siesta with these fellows in the neighborhood, for fear of waking up in another place than Portugal.”  And she followed her melting husband, who was hastening out of the sun, in the hope of regaining his solidity in the shade at hand.

L’Isle and Lady Mabel rode close up to the shepherds.  They had been resting under an oak, and the cooking utensils, some baggage, and two asses near at hand, looked as if they, too, were travelers.  L’Isle addressed a tall, dark man, of middle age, who seemed to be the head of the party.  As soon as these men heard their own language from the mouth of a foreigner, so fluently and correctly spoken, their faces lightened up with interest and intelligence.  They gave ready answers to all inquiries, and L’Isle had to reply in turn to many a question as to himself, his companions, and the news of the war.  The chief shepherd was particularly anxious to know the condition of the province of Beira, and what were the chances of a visit there from the French during the coming summer.  His flock, he said, was one of those which winter on the heaths and plains of Alemtejo, and, to avoid the droughts which make them a desert in summer, are driven across the Tagus in the spring, into the Serra Estrella, when the snow has melted, and vegetation again covers that range of mountains.

One of his companions offered for sale two rabbits and some partridges he had shot on the moors, which L’Isle bought, like a provident traveler, who does not rely too much on the larder of the next inn.

Lady Mabel, with attentive ear, had gathered the sense of much that had been said, and L’Isle had interpreted what puzzled her.  But being a woman, she was unwilling to remain a mere listener; so, elaborately framing a question in Portuguese, she addressed the head shepherd, seeking to know how far the migrations of these flocks resembled the Spanish mesta.  The dark man gazed at her admiringly and attentively, repeating some of her words, but unable to make out her meaning.  She bit her lip, while he, shaking his head, turned to L’Isle, and said, “what a pity so lovely a lady cannot speak Portuguese.  She looks just like our ‘Lady of Nazareth,’ at Pederneira, only her hair is brighter, and her eyes are blue.”