"I am afraid, I am afraid!" Doña Carlota shuddered, turning back again from the open door.
"You were a member of Don Abrahan's household many years while I was away in the convent school," Helena reminded her. "Think, Doña Carlota; there must be somebody who owes you for a kind word or deed who will repay you now."
"Oh, I fear to leave your protection."
"The general is coming this way, he is coming here, Doña Carlota. You must go; he has eyes like the magic crystal that reveals the secrets of the heart."
"There was Cecilia, if she would remember," Doña Carlota said, but doubtfully, in trepidation, one foot toward the door.
"She has a good memory. There is her house, the last one, with the goat pen under the window. Here—draw your mantilla close around your face—the general may not know you. My cloak—here, cover your dress—and be quick, or I will not answer for you."
Helena watched her from the door as she hurried away to seek sanctuary against no other danger than her own conscience and fear. Weak sycophant that she was, treacherous friend that she had been, Helena felt the humor, rather more keenly than the punishment, that attended Doña Carlota's downfall. She could not restrain a smile as she watched the pudgy figure waddling off like a Yiddish mama going from market with a goose under her arm.
