“So I marched my men back to the town.

“After a few days, order having been re-established, all the principal families, including my own, left for Santiago.  We had a fine house there.  At the same time the division of Robles was moved to new cantonments near the capital.  This change suited very well the state of my domestic and amorous feelings.

“One night, rather late, I was called to my chief.  I found General Robles in his quarters, at ease, with his uniform off, drinking neat brandy out of a tumbler—­as a precaution, he used to say, against the sleeplessness induced by the bites of mosquitoes.  He was a good soldier, and he taught me the art and practice of war.  No doubt God has been merciful to his soul; for his motives were never other than patriotic, if his character was irascible.  As to the use of mosquito nets, he considered it effeminate, shameful—­unworthy of a soldier.  I noticed at the first glance that his face, already very red, wore an expression of high good-humour.

“‘Aha!  Senor teniente,’ he cried, loudly, as I saluted at the door.  ‘Behold!  Your strong man has turned up again.’

“He extended to me a folded letter, which I saw was superscribed ’To the Commander-in-Chief of the Republican Armies.’

“‘This,’ General Robles went on in his loud voice, ’was thrust by a boy into the hand of a sentry at the Quartel General, while the fellow stood there thinking of his girl, no doubt—­for before he could gather his wits together the boy had disappeared amongst the market people, and he protests he could not recognize him to save his life.’

“’My chief told me further that the soldier had given the letter to the sergeant of the guard, and that ultimately it had reached the hands of our generalissimo.  His Excellency had deigned to take cognizance of it with his own eyes.  After that he had referred the matter in confidence to General Robles.

“The letter, senores, I cannot now recollect textually.  I saw the signature of Gaspar Ruiz.  He was an audacious fellow.  He had snatched a soul for himself out of a cataclysm, remember.  And now it was that soul which had dictated the terms of his letter.  Its tone was very independent.  I remember it struck me at the time as noble—­dignified.  It was, no doubt, her letter.  Now I shudder at the depth of its duplicity.  Gaspar Ruiz was made to complain of the injustice of which he had been a victim.  He invoked his previous record of fidelity and courage.  Having been saved from death by the miraculous interposition of Providence, he could think of nothing but of retrieving his character.  This, he wrote, he could not hope to do in the ranks as a discredited soldier still under suspicion.  He had the means to give a striking proof of his fidelity.  He had ended by proposing to the General-in-Chief a meeting at midnight in the middle of the Plaza before the Moneta.  The signal would be to strike fire with flint and steel three times, which was not too conspicuous and yet distinctive enough for recognition.