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Updated: May 18, 2025
Well, my young friend Lysbeth, if I do not make you pay for these exertions before you are two months older, my name is not Juan de Montalvo." Three days later the ladies returned to Leyden. Within an hour of their arrival the Count called, and was admitted. "Stay with me," said Lysbeth to her Aunt Clara as the visitor was announced, and for a while she stayed.
It was as in the fable of the weremen, who, at a magic sign or word, put off their human aspect and become beasts. So it had chanced to the spirit of Montalvo, shining through his flesh like some baleful marsh-light through the mist.
When the circuit of the walls was finished, Montalvo halted at one of the shut gates, and, calling to the guard within, summoned them to open. This caused delay and investigation, for at first the sergeant of the guard would not believe that it was his acting commandant who spoke without.
So at least she declared to Lysbeth when she brought her cavalier back to dinner. The reader may guess the rest. Montalvo paid his court, and in due course Montalvo was refused. He bore the blow with a tender resignation. "Confess, dear lady," he said, "that there is some other man more fortunate." Lysbeth did not confess, but, on the other hand, neither did she deny.
The fair copy of the letter, after the draft had been submitted for George's approval, was still in process of being written when Senor Montalvo, booted and spurred, and otherwise dressed for the road, made his appearance.
When everything had been satisfactorily arranged she went outside and chattered for a while with the soldier on guard, only re-entering the room by one door as Montalvo appeared in it through the other. "Well, my friend," he said, "have you the evidence?" "I have some evidence, Excellency," she answered.
Across the gulf of years, one-eyed, bearded, withered, scarred as he was by suffering, passion and evil thoughts, she knew him, for there before her stood one whom she deemed dead, the wretch whom she had believed to be her husband, Juan de Montalvo. Some magnetism drew his gaze to her; out of all the faces of that crowd it was hers that leapt to his eye.
The subaltern saluted as he entered: "My captain, forgive me, but I act under orders, and they are to arrest you alive, or," he added significantly, "dead." "Upon what charge?" asked Montalvo. "Here, notary, you had best read the charge," said the subaltern, "but perhaps the lady would like to retire first," he added awkwardly. "No," answered Lysbeth, "it might concern me." "Alas!
But the most notable consequence, perhaps, of the spread of printing was the flood of romances of chivalry that had continued to pour from the press ever since Garci Ordonez de Montalvo had resuscitated "Amadis of Gaul" at the beginning of the century.
"Not exactly, Excellency," answered the sergeant with a discreet smile and a cough. "The prison, I am told, is quite full, but she may start for the prison and there seems to be a hole in the ice into which, since Satan leads the footsteps of such people astray, this heretic might chance to fall or throw herself." "What is the evidence?" asked Montalvo.
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