The Helmet of Mambrino 



from her lips, which held a burning 

 cigarette. She too disappeared. 



On the other side of the arched 

 entry, against the opposite wall, on 

 an oaken bench like mine, his head to 

 the outer air, asleep on his back, lay 

 my guide and companion, Salazar, — 

 a poor gentleman, humbled by fate, 

 yet rich in the qualities of sentiment 

 which make good men and good 

 friends. 



His arms were crossed on his breast, 

 after the manner of those pious per- 

 sonages who lie in their long bronze 

 and marble slumber in church and 

 chapel. His delicate constitution, 

 yielding at last to the wear of time, 

 and now plainly declining, had de- 

 creed for him only a narrow margin 

 of life. In a little while, in a few 

 short years, he will lie as he lay that 

 morning in La Mancha, and his 

 countenance will wear the same ex- 

 pression of mingled pain and peace. 



