It was at this moment that La Zandunga interrupted the lovers with her resonant, unpleasant voice.

“My aunt! my aunt!  Run, Stanislas! do not let her see you, in Heaven’s name!”

The Serjeant disappeared promptly, but the old virago caught a glimpse of his retreating figure.

“With whom were you gossiping there, good-for-nothing?” cried La Zandunga, fiercely.  “I seemed to catch the colour of his coat.  If I thought it was that son of Satan, the serjeant, who is ever philandering and following you about—­Who was it, I say?”

Mariquita would not answer.

“In with you, shameless, idle daughter of pauper parents, who died in my debt, leaving you on my hands!  Is it thus that you repay me my bounty—­the home I give you—­the bread you eat?  Go in, jade, and earn it, or I’ll put you into the street.”

The girl, bending submissively under this storm of invective and bitter reproach, walked slowly towards the house.  Her aunt followed, growling fiercely.

“Cursed red-coat!—­common, beggarly soldier!  How can you, an Hidalgo of the best blue blood, whose ancestors were settled here before the English robbers stole the fortress—­before the English?—­before the Moors!  You, an Hidalgo, to take up with a base-born hireling cut-throat—­”

“No more, aunt!” Mariquita turned on her with flashing eyes.  “Call me what you like, you shall not abuse him—­my affianced lover—­the man to whom I have given my troth!”

“What!” screamed the old crone, now furious with rage.  “Do you dare tell me that—­to my face?  Never, impudent huzzy—­never, while I have strength and spirit and power to say you no—­shall you wed this hated English mercenary—­”

“I will wed no one else.”

“That will we see.  Is not your hand promised—­”

“Not with my consent.”

“—­Promised, formally, to Benito Villegas—­my husband’s cousin?”

“I have not consented.  Never shall I agree.  Benito is a villain.  I hate and detest him!”

“Tell him so to his face, evil-tongued slut!—­tell him if you dare!  He is now in the house.  That is why I came to fetch you.  I saw him approaching.”

“He knows my opinion of him, but if you wish it, aunt, he shall hear it again,” said the young girl, undaunted; and she walked on through the workroom, straight into the little shop.

Benito was seated at the counter, talking confidentially, and in a very low voice, with Tio Pedro.

“Are the bales ready, uncle?  In two days from now we can run them through like oil in a tube.”

“Have you settled the terms?”

“On both sides.  Here the inspectors were difficult, but I oiled their palms.  On the other side the Custom-house officers are my friends.  All is straight and easy.  The tobacco must be shipped to-morrow—­”

“In the same falucha?”

“Yes; for Estepona.  Be ready, then, at gunfire—­”