"
But when Juanito saw his mother approach him, supported by the priest,
he cried out: "She bore me!"
A cry of horror broke from all present. The noise of the feast and the
jovial laughter of the officers ceased at that terrible clamor. The
marquise comprehended that Juanito's courage was exhausted, and
springing with one bound over the parapet, she was dashed to pieces on
the rocks below. A sound of admiration rose. Juanito had fallen
senseless.
"General," said an officer, who was half drunk, "Marchand has just
told me the particulars of that execution down there. I will bet you
never ordered it."
"Do you forget, messieurs," cried General G--t--r, "that five hundred
French families are plunged in affliction, and that we are now in
Spain? Do you wish to leave our bones in its soil?"
After that allocution, no one, not even a sub-lieutenant, had the
courage to empty his glass.
In spite of the respect with which he is surrounded, in spite of the
title El Verdugo (the executioner) which the King of Spain bestowed as
a title of nobility on the Marquis de Leganes, he is a prey to sorrow;
he lives in solitude, and is seldom seen.
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