dead man or the Spaniard?"

"Monsieur," replied the Receiver-General, "I nursed poor Bega, who
died five days after in dreadful suffering.--That is not the end.

"At the time of the expedition sent out to restore Ferdinand VII. I
was appointed to a place in Spain; but, happily for me, I got no
further than Tours when I was promised the post of Receiver here at
Sancerre. On the eve of setting out I was at a ball at Madame de
Listomere's, where we were to meet several Spaniards of high rank. On
rising from the card-table, I saw a Spanish grandee, an _afrancesado_
in exile, who had been about a fortnight in Touraine. He had arrived
very late at this ball--his first appearance in society--accompanied
by his wife, whose right arm was perfectly motionless. Everybody made
way in silence for this couple, whom we all watched with some
excitement. Imagine a picture by Murillo come to life. Under black and
hollow brows the man's eyes were like a fixed blaze; his face looked
dried up, his bald skull was red, and his frame was a terror to
behold, he was so emaciated. His wife--no, you cannot imagine her. Her
figure had the supple swing for which the Spaniards created the word
_meneho_; though pale, she was still beautiful; her complexion was
dazzlingly fair--a rare thing in a Spaniard; and her gaze, full of the
Spanish sun, fell on you like a stream of melted lead.

"'Madame,' said I to her, towards the end of the evening, 'what
occurrence led to the loss of your arm?'

"'I lost it in the war of independence,' said she."

"Spain is a strange country," said Madame de la Baudraye. "It still