'It is I who can help you,' he said. 'I am myself travelling south.'

I put my arms about him and, as my ankle gave way at the same moment, we
nearly rolled upon the ground together.

'Get me to Pastores,' I cried, 'and you shall have a rosary of golden
beads.' I had taken one from the Convent of Spiritu Santo. It shows how
necessary it is to take what you can when you are upon a campaign, and
how the most unlikely things may become useful.

'I will take you,' he said, in very excellent French, 'not because I
hope for any reward, but because it is my way always to do what I can to
serve my fellow-man, and that is why I am so beloved wherever I go.'

With that he led me down the village to an old cow-house, in which we
found a tumble-down sort of diligence, such as they used to run early
in this century, between some of our remote villages. There were three
old mules, too, none of which were strong enough to carry a man, but
together they might draw the coach. The sight of their gaunt ribs and
spavined legs gave me more delight than the whole two hundred and twenty
hunters of the Emperor which I have seen in their stalls at
Fontainebleau. In ten minutes the owner was harnessing them into the
coach, with no very good will, however, for he was in mortal dread of
this terrible Cuchillo. It was only by promising him riches in this
world, while the priest threatened him with perdition in the next, that
we at last got him safely upon the box with the reins between his
fingers. Then he was in such a hurry to get off, out of fear lest we
should find ourselves in the dark in the passes, that he hardly gave me
time to renew my vows to the innkeeper's daughter. I cannot at this
moment recall her name, but we wept together as we parted, and I can