No one knows where to turn.
There is no head in Spain now; they assassinated him last night." "Whom ?" asked Marcos.
"Prim.

They shot him in his carriage, like a dog in a kennel--five of them--with guns.

One has no pride in being a Spaniard now." Marcos followed his father through the crowd without replying.
There seemed nothing, indeed, to be said; nothing to be added to the simple observation that it was a humiliation for a man to have to admit in these days that he was a Spaniard.
"He was a Catalonian to the last," said Sarrion, when they were seated in their carnage.

"He walked dying up his own stairs, so that his wife might be spared the sight of seeing him carried in.

Stubborn and brave! One of the best men we have seen." "And the king ?" "The king lands at Carthagena to-day--lands with his life in his hand.