h Louis. A very good copy of Watteau was
over the mantel-piece, the only picture in the room. There had been a
fire in the hearth overnight, for a grey ash lay there. Outside on the
ample balcony stood a laurel in a big blue pot, an emblematic tribute on
Paulo's part to honourable defeat which might yet turn to victory.
There were books about the room: a volume of Napoleon's maxims, a French
novel, a little volume of Sophocles in its original Greek. A
uniform-case and a sword-case stood in a corner. A map of South America
lay partially unrolled upon a chair. The dainty gilt clock over the
mantel-piece, a genuine heritage from the age of Louis Quinze, struck
eight briskly. The Dictator stirred in his sleep.
Presently there was a tapping at the door to the left of the bed, a door
communicating with the Dictator's private sitting-room. Still the
Dictator slept, undisturbed by the slight sound. The sound was not
repeated, but the door was softly opened, and a young man put his head
into the room and looked at the slumbering Dictator. The young man was
dark, smooth-shaven, with a look of quiet alertness in his face. He
seemed to be about thirty years of age. His dark eyes watched the
sleeping figure affectionately for a few seconds. 'It seems a pity to
wake him,' he muttered; and he was about to draw his head back and close
the door, when the Dictator stirred again, and suddenly waking swung
himself round in the bed and faced his visitor. The visitor smiled
pleasantly. 'Buenos dias, Escelencia,' he said.
The Dictator propped himself up on his left arm and looked at him.
'Good morning, Hamilton,' he answered. 'What's the good of talking
Spanish here? Better fall back upon simple Saxon until we can see the
sun rise again in Gloria. And as for the Excellency, don't you think we
had better drop that too?'
'Until we see the sun rise in Gloria,' said Hamilton. He had pushed the
door open now, and entered the room, leaning carelessly against the
door-post. 'Yes; that may not be so far off, please Heaven; and, in the
meantime, I think we had better stick to the title and all forms,
Excellency.'
The Dictator laughed again. 'Very well, as you please. The world is
governed by form and title, and I suppose such dignities lend a decency
even to exile in men's eyes. Is it late? I was tired, and slept like a
dog.'
'Oh no; it's not late,' Hamilton answered. 'Only just struck eight. You
wished to be called, or I shouldn't have
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