"What is the matter ?" asked Zorrillo anxiously.

Recovering her self-control, she answered hastily "The thunder, the storm...." Then, with short, light steps, she went back to the table, and as she resumed her seat the bell for evening prayers was heard outside.
Most of the company rose to obey the summons.
"Good-bye till to-morrow morning, Sergeant! The election will take place early to-morrow." "A Dios, a Dios, hasta mas ver, Sibila, a Dios!" was loudly shouted, and soon most of the guests had left the tent.
Those who remained behind were scattered among the different tables.
Ulrich sat at one alone with Hans Eitelfritz.
The lansquenet had declined Zorrillo's invitation to join him; an old friend from Madrid was present, with whom he wished to talk over happier days.

The other willingly assented; for what he had intended to say to his companions was against Ulrich and his views.

The longer the sergeant-major detained him the better.

Everything that recalled Master Moor was dear to Ulrich, and as soon as he was alone with Hans Eitelfritz, he again greeted him in a strange mixture of Spanish and German.