That afternoon almost all the efforts of the French were directed against the suburb from the left of the Ebro. They assaulted the Monastery of Jesus, and bombarded the Church of the Virgin del Pilar, where the greater number of sick and infirm had found refuge, believing that the sanctity of the place offered them greater security than any other spot.
In the centre of the city, we did not work much that day. All our attention was concentrated upon the mines, and our efforts directed to giving the enemy evidence that, before consenting to be blown up ourselves, we would discuss blowing them up, or at least flying upwards together.
At night both armies seemed given over to peaceful repose. The rough blows of the pick were no longer heard in the subterranean galleries. I sallied forth; and near San Diego I found Augustine and Mariquilla, who were talking quietly together, seated sedately upon the doorstep of the house los Duendes. They were very glad to see me; and I joined them, sharing the scraps of bread of which they were making their supper.
“We have nowhere to stay,” said Mariquilla. “We were in a portico in the Órgano alley; but we were driven out. Why is it that so many people detest my poor father? What harm has he done them? We took refuge afterwards in a corner of the Calle de las Urreas, and were driven out of there too. We sat down afterwards under an arch in the Coso, and all those who were there fled away from us. My father was furious.”
“Mariquilla of my heart,” said Augustine, “let us hope that the siege will soon be finished by some means or other. I hope that God will let us both die, if living we may not be happy. I do not know why, among so many misfortunes, my heart is full of hope; I do not know why I have