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Updated: June 18, 2025
He carries it in his hand wherever he goes, day and night, in Spain, he and his wife. Without Prim he cannot hope to stand. But he will try. We must do what we can." The carriage was making its careful way across the Puerta del Sol, which had been cleared by grape-shot more than once in Sarrion's recollection. It looked now as if only artillery could set order there.
In a moment the starched linen fluttered out, fell into the river, and was carried swirling away. Juanita was still laughing, but Marcos did not answer to her gaiety. She recollected at that instant having once threatened to dress as a nun in order to alarm Marcos, and Sarrion's grave remark that it would of a certainty frighten him. They were silent for a moment.
"Viva el Rey! viva Don Carlos!" a loafer shouted, and waved his hat in Sarrion's grim and smiling face. "I do not understand," he said to Marcos, as they passed on, "why the good God gives the Bourbons so many chances." "I cannot understand why the Bourbons never take them," answered Marcos.
Sarrion's hair was gray. He wore a moustache and imperial in the French fashion, and looked at the world with the fierce eyes and somewhat of the air of an eagle, which resemblance was further accentuated by a finely-cut nose. As an old man he was picturesque. He must have been very handsome in his youth.
He sat back and looked at the Sarrions with his little, cunning eyes twinkling beneath his gold laced cap. The expansiveness would not last much longer. Sarrion's dark glance was diagnosing the man with a deadly skill. "The thing," he said slowly, "is to strike while the iron is hot." He spoke in the symbolic way of a people much given to proverbial wisdom and the dark uses of allegory.
Her own bedroom at the western corner of the house, next door to the huge room occupied by Sarrion, had been entirely refurnished and newly decorated. "Oh, how pretty!" she exclaimed, and Marcos lingering in the long passage perhaps heard the remark. Later, when they were all in the drawing-room awaiting dinner, Juanita clasped Sarrion's arm with her wonted little gesture of affection.
They therefore walked the length of the Calle de la Merced without attracting undue attention. Juanita's cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. She slipped her hand within Sarrion's arm and gave it a little squeeze of affection. "How kind of you to come," she said. "I knew I could trust you. I was never afraid."
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