this first civilian Chief of the
State Costaguana had ever known, pronouncing, glass in hand, his simple
watchwords of honesty, peace, respect for law, political good faith
abroad and at home--the safeguards of national honour.

He sat down. During the respectful, appreciative buzz of voices that
followed the speech, General Montero raised a pair of heavy, drooping
eyelids and rolled his eyes with a sort of uneasy dullness from face
to face. The military backwoods hero of the party, though secretly
impressed by the sudden novelties and splendours of his position (he
had never been on board a ship before, and had hardly ever seen the sea
except from a distance), understood by a sort of instinct the advantage
his surly, unpolished attitude of a savage fighter gave him amongst all
these refined Blanco aristocrats. But why was it that nobody was looking
at him? he wondered to himself angrily. He was able to spell out the
print of newspapers, and knew that he had performed the "greatest
military exploit of modern times."

"My husband wanted the railway," Mrs. Gould said to Sir John in the
general murmur of resumed conversations. "All this brings nearer the
sort of future we desire for the country, which has waited for it in
sorrow long enough, God knows. But I will confess that the other day,
during my afternoon drive when I suddenly saw an Indian boy ride out
of a wood with the red flag of a surveying party in his hand, I felt
something of a shock. The future means change--an utter change. And yet
even here there are simple and picturesque things that one would like to
preserve."

Sir John listened, smiling. But it was his turn now to hush Mrs. Gould.

"General Montero is going to speak," he whispered, and almost
immediately added, in comic alarm, "Heavens! he's going to propose my
own health, I believe."

General Montero had risen with a jingle of steel scabbard and a ripple
of glitter on his gold-embroidered breast; a heavy sword-hilt appeared
at his side above the edge of the table. In this gorgeous uniform, with
his bull neck, his hooked nose flattened on the tip upon a blue-black,
dyed moustache, he looked like a disguised and sinister vaquero.
The drone of his voice had a strangely rasping, soulless ring. He
floundered, lowering, through a few vague sentences; then suddenly
raising his big head and his voice together, burst out harshly--

"The honour of the country is in the hands of the army. I assure you
I sh