"Long live the king! Long live Navarrete! Navarrete! Hurrah for
Navarrete!" echoed loudly, impetuously from a thousand bearded lips.

Zorrillo had no opportunity to speak again. The election was made.

Ulrich was chosen Eletto.

As if on wings, he went from man to man, shaking hands with his comrades.
Power, power, the highest prize on earth, was attained, was his! The
whole throng, soldiers, tyros, women, girls and children, crowded around
him, shouting his name; whoever wore a hat or cap, tossed it in the air,
whoever had a kerchief, waved it. Drums beat, trumpets sounded, and the
gunner ordered all the field-pieces to be discharged, for the choice
pleased him.

Ulrich stood, as if intoxicated, amid the shouts, shrieks of joy,
military music, and thunder of the cannon. He raised his helmet, waved
salutations to the crowd, and strove to speak, but the uproar drowned his
words.

After the election Florette slipped quietly away; first to the empty tent
then to the sick woman who needed her care.

The Eletto had no time to think of his mother; for scarcely had he given
a solemn oath of loyalty to his comrades and received theirs, when Count
Mannsfeld appeared.

The general was received with every honor. He knew Navarrete, and the
latter entered into negotiations with the manly dignity natural to him;