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THE CIGARETTE.

Juan's eyes: 'You say that you know something of the healing art? Can you, at least, alleviate my pain? I am suffering greatly.'

"He pointed to his bare, bloodstained leg beneath the trousers that had been turned up and that were stiff with the red fluid.

"Araquil took off his jacket, impetuously tore off the left sleeve of his shirt and on the improvised bandage, unseen of all, all the time manipulating the bit of linen, he slowly poured a few drops of a liquid—that which he had in his ring on his finger—and then, pale as a sheet, took two steps forward toward Zucarraga, who had never taken his eyes off him for a moment.

"There was no tremor in Araquil's hand as it held that piece of linen, marked with a small yellow stain. As he was about to kneel before Zucarraiga to bind up his wound, one of the officers said to the Carlist leader:

"'We know nothing of this man!'

"The other replied, still with a smile on his face:

"'True, but neither do we know the physician, nor the priest.'

"And he stretched his leg out toward Juan Araquil with a painful effort.

"'But what causes that yellow spot?' a captain inquired.

"'A remedy of my own, for the wound of the corrida,' Juan replied.

"'Nonsense!'

"During all the operation Zucarraga never once took his great black eye away from that of Juan, and scarcely had the bandage been applied to the wound