“You will be my sun, Stanislas.”

“Then you will have to learn English.”

“It will be easy enough if you teach me.”

“Some day you will be a great lady—­one of the greatest in London, perhaps.  You’ll have a grand house, carriages, magnificent dresses, diamonds—­”

“I only want you,” she said, as she nestled closer to his side.

It was sad that stern duty should put an end to these pretty love passages, but the moment of separation arrived inexorably, and, after a sad, passionate leave-taking, McKay tore himself away.

Mariquita for days was inconsolable.  She brooded constantly in a corner, weeping silent tears, utterly absorbed in her grief.  They considerately left her alone.  Since she had become the affianced wife of a man of McKay’s rank and position, both the termagant aunt and cross-grained uncle had treated her with unbounded respect.  They would not allow her to be vexed or worried by any one, least of all by Benito, who, as soon as the English officer was out of the way, again began to haunt the house.

It was about her that they were having high words a day or two after McKay’s departure.

Mariquita overheard them.

“You shall not see her, I tell you!” said La Zandunga, with shrill determination.  “The sweet child is sad and sick at heart.”

“She has broken mine, as you have your word to me.  I shall never be happy more.”

He spoke as though he was in great distress, and his grief, if false, was certainly well feigned.

“Bah!” said old Pedro.  “No man ever died of unrequited love.  There are as good fish in the sea.”

“I wanted this one,” said Benito, in deep dejection.  “No matter; I am going away.  There is a fine chance yonder, and I may perhaps forget her.”

“Where, then?” asked the old woman.

“In the Crimea.  I start to-morrow.”

“Go, in Heaven’s keeping,” said Tio Pedro.

“And never let us see you again,” added La Zandunga, whose sentiments towards Benito had undergone an entire change in the last few months.

“May I not see her to say good-bye?”

“No, you would only agitate her.”

“Do not be so cruel.  I implore you to let me speak to her.”

“Be off!” said the old woman, angrily.  “You are importunate and ill-bred.”

“I will not go; I will see her first.”

“Put him out, Pedro; by force, if he will not go quietly.”

Tio Pedro rose rather reluctantly and advanced towards Benito.

“Hands off!” cried the young man, savagely striking at Pedro.

“What!  You dare!” said the other furiously.  “I am not too old to deal with such a stripling.  Begone, I say, quicker than that!” and Tio Pedro pushed Benito towards the door.

There was a struggle, but it was of short duration.  Within a few seconds Benito was ejected into the street.

By-and-by, when the coast was clear, and Mariquita felt safe from the intrusion of the man she loathed, she came out into the shop.