"Happy Pedro! The condessa is beautiful; I have seen her, Lazaro."
"Plump Ignesa, the chamber-maid at the posada of Majorga, is more to my mind. I never could relish your stately donnas, with their high combs and long trains. This condessa is niece of that prince of rogues, the Duke of Alba de T——, who was killed in the service of Buonaparte: but Pedro cares not for that."
"In the history of his good fortune you see the advantage of being a soldier, Lazaro."
"With all due respect to your honourable uniform, which I am sorry to see so tattered, señor, I can perceive no advantage in being a soldier—none at all, _par Diez_! I envy Pedro not the value of a maravedi. He has served and toiled, starved and bled, in the war of independence, like any slave, rather than a soldier."
"So have I, Lazaro," said Stuart; "and these rags, and confinement here for five months, have been my reward."
The muleteer snapped his fingers, then gave a very knowing wink, and was about to whisper something; but, observing one of the banditti watching, he continued talking about his brother.
"Ay, like any poor slave, señor; and has more shot-holes in his skin than I have bell buttons on my jacket. And now, when the war is over, he has still a troublesome game to play in striving to please his hot-headed commanding-officer and lady wife, whom it would be considered a mortal sin to baste with a buff strap, as I may do Ignesa when she becomes my helpmate and better half. Pedro’s honours weigh heavily upon him, and he has many folks to please; whereas I have none to humour save myself, and perhaps that stubborn jade _Capitana_, my leading mule, or Ignesa of Majorga, who gets restive, too, sometimes, and refuses to obey either spur or bridle. But my long whip, and a smart rap from my _cajado_, soothe the mule, and my sweet guitar and merry madrigal, the maiden. I am a thousand times happier than Pedro! I never could endure either domestic or military control, and would rather be Lazaro Gomez, with his whip and his mules, than the stately king of the Spanish nation. I have the bright sun, the purple wine, my cigar, and the red-cheeked peasant-girls to kiss and dance with,—and what would mortal man have more? _Bueno_!"