Suddenly the quartermaster remembered the hour just before the election, when Florette had thrown herself upon his breast, and thanked him for his kindness; clenching his teeth, he groaned aloud.

The others were about to leave him, but he regained his self-control, and said: 

“Take him the count’s letter, Renato.  What I have to say to him, I will determine later.”

Zorrillo was a long time unlacing his jerkin and taking out the paper.  Both of his companions noticed how his fingers trembled, and looked at each other compassionately; but the older one said, as he received the letter: 

“Man, man, this will do no good.  Women are like good fortune.”

“Take the thing as a thousand others have taken it, and don’t come to blows.  You wield a good blade, but to attack Navarrete is suicide.  I’ll take him the letter.  Be wise, Zorrillo, and look for another love at once.”

“Directly, directly, of course,” replied the quartermaster; but as soon as he had sent the maid-servant away, and was entirely alone, he bowed his forehead upon the table and his shoulders heaved convulsively.  He remained in this attitude a long time, then paced to and fro with forced calmness.  Morning dawned long ere he sought his couch.

Early the next day he made his report to the Eletto before the assembled council of war, and when it broke up, approached Navarrete, saying, in so loud a tone that no one could fail to hear: 

“I congratulate you on your new sweetheart.”

“With good reason,” replied the Eletto.  “Wait a little while, and I’ll wager that you’ll congratulate me more sincerely than you do to-day.”

The offers from Brussels had again proved unacceptable.  It was necessary now to act, and the insurgent commander profited by the time at his disposal.  It seemed as if “power” doubled his elasticity and energy.  It was so delightful, after the march, the council of war, and the day’s work were over, to rest with his mother, listen to her, and open his own heart.  How had she preserved—­yes, he might call it so—­her aristocratic bearing, amid the turmoil, perils, and mire of camp-life, in spite of all, all!  How cleverly and entertainingly she could talk about men and things, how comical the ideas, with which she understood how to spice the conversation, and how well versed he found her in everything that related to the situation of the regiments and his own position.  She had not been the confidante of army leaders in vain.

By her advice he relinquished his plan of capturing Mechlin, after learning from spies that it was prepared and expecting the attack of the insurgents.

He could not enter upon a long siege with the means at his command; his first blow must not miss the mark.  So he only showed himself near Brussels, sent Captain Montesdocca, who tried to parley again, back with his mission unaccomplished, marched in a new direction to mislead his foes, and then unexpectedly assailed wealthy Aalst in Flanders.