there was not one ball for me. Gabriel, my dear friend, put the barrel of one of your pistols to my temple and tear out my life. Would you believe it? A little while ago I tried to kill myself. I do not know—but it seemed as if an invisible hand came and took the weapon from my temple, then another hand, soft and warm, passed over my brow.”
“Calm yourself, Augustine, and tell me what is the matter.”
“What the matter is with me? What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“It lacks an hour,” he cried, trembling nervously. “Sixty minutes. It may be the French have mined this Plazuela de San Felipe where we are, and perhaps in a moment the earth will leap under our feet and open a horrible gulf in which we shall all be buried—all, the victim and the executioners.”
“What victim is that?”
“The unfortunate Candiola. He is shut up in the Torre Nueva.”
In the doorway of the Torre Nueva there were some soldiers, and a faint light illumined the entrance.
“Of course,” I said, “I know that that infamous old man was taken prisoner with some of the French in the orchard of San Diego.”
“His crime is unquestioned. He showed the enemy the passage, known to him alone, from Santa Rosa to his house los Duendes. Besides, there being no lack of proof, the unhappy man has tonight confessed all, in the hope of saving his life.”
“They have condemned him?”