dancing crowd, the lively music, and the enthusiasm of the rest of the dancers augmented her own, until at last, breathless with fatigue, she dropped her arms and fell to earth like a stone or a pomegranate.
Pirli stood over her, and surrounded her by a sort of corral formed of himself and the basket of provisions.
“Let us see what you have brought us, Manuelilla,” said Pirli. “If ’twere not for thee and Father Busto, we should die of hunger. And if it were not for this little dance with which we get rid of the bad taste of the ‘hot cakes’ and the ‘señoras,’ what would become of us poor soldiers?”
“I bring you whatever there is,” replied Manuela, opening the basket of provisions. “Wait a little. If the siege lasts, you will be eating bricks.”
“We shall have bullets mixed with black flour,” said Pirli. “Manuelilla, have you got over being afraid of the bullets yet?” Saying this, he seized his gun, and shot it off into the air. The girl gave a sharp scream, and, startled, sprang up as if to escape.