save themselves one day in prison.  The girl was artful, indeed, and armed with that roll, I might have snapped my fingers at the jailers.  In one hour, with that little file, I could have sawn through the thickest bar, and with the gold coin I could have exchanged my soldier’s cloak for civilian garb at the nearest shop.  You may fancy that a man who has often taken the eaglets out of their nests in our cliff would have found no difficulty in getting down to the street out of a window less than thirty feet above it.  But I didn’t choose to escape.  I still had a soldier’s code of honour, and desertion appeared to me in the light of a heinous crime.  Yet this proof of remembrance touched me.  When a man is in prison he likes to think he has a friend outside who takes an interest in him.  The gold coin did rather offend me; I should have very much liked to return it; but where was I to find my creditor?  That did not seem a very easy task.

“After the ceremony of my degradation I had fancied my sufferings were over, but I had another humiliation before me.  That came when I left prison, and was told off for duty, and put on sentry, as a private soldier.  You can not conceive what a proud man endures at such a moment.  I believe I would have just as soon been shot dead—­then I should have marched alone at the head of my platoon, at all events; I should have felt I was somebody, with the eyes of others fixed upon me.

“I was posted as sentry on the door of the colonel’s house.  The colonel was a young man, rich, good-natured, fond of amusing himself.  All the young officers were there, and many civilians as well, besides ladies—­actresses, as it was said.  For my part, it seemed to me as if the whole town had agreed to meet at that door, in order to stare at me.  Then up drove the colonel’s carriage, with his valet on the box.  And who should I see get out of it, but the gipsy girl!  She was dressed up, this time, to the eyes, togged out in golden ribbons—­a spangled gown, blue shoes, all spangled too, flowers and gold lace all over her.  In her hand she carried a tambourine.  With her there were two other gipsy women, one young and one old.  They always have one old woman who goes with them, and then an old man with a guitar, a gipsy too, to play alone, and also for their dances.  You must know these gipsy girls are often sent for to private houses, to dance their special dance, the Romalis, and often, too, for quite other purposes.

“Carmen recognised me, and we exchanged glances.  I don’t know why, but at that moment I should have liked to have been a hundred feet beneath the ground.

“’Agur laguna,’* said she.  ’Oficial mio!  You keep guard like a recruit,’ and before I could find a word in answer, she was inside the house.

     * Good-day, comrade!