" She had told the truth in all, except in conveying that
her mother was not of the lower orders, and that she went to the river to
wash her spaniel and her pony instead of her clothes.
"Your father--did they not arrest him again? Did they not know?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "That is not the way in Spain. He was shot,
as the orders were, with his back to the wall by a squad of soldiers
with regulation bullets. If he chose to come to life again, that was his
own affair. The Government would take no notice of him after he was
dead. He could bury himself, or he could come alive--it was all the same
to them. So he came alive again."
"That is a story which would make a man's name if he wrote it down," said
Jean Jacques eloquently. "And the poor little senora, but my heart bleeds
for her! To go like that in such pain, and not to know--If she had been
my wife I think I would have gone after her to tell her it was all right,
and to be with her--"
He paused confused, for that seemed like a reflection on her father's
chivalry, and for a man who had risked his life for his banished
king--what would he have thought if he had been told that Sebastian
Dolores was an anarchist who loathed kings!--it was an insult to suggest
that he did not know the right thing to do, or, knowing, had not done it.
She saw the weakness of his case at once.
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