de a few steps under the deck-awning, leaning on
the arm of Senor Avellanos; a wide circle was formed round him, where
the mirthless smile of his dark lips and the sightless glitter of his
spectacles could be seen turning amiably from side to side. The
informal function arranged on purpose on board the Juno to give the
President-Dictator an opportunity to meet intimately some of his most
notable adherents in Sulaco was drawing to an end. On one side, General
Montero, his bald head covered now by a plumed cocked hat, remained
motionless on a skylight seat, a pair of big gauntleted hands folded
on the hilt of the sabre standing upright between his legs. The white
plume, the coppery tint of his broad face, the blue-black of the
moustaches under the curved beak, the mass of gold on sleeves and
breast, the high shining boots with enormous spurs, the working
nostrils, the imbecile and domineering stare of the glorious victor of
Rio Seco had in them something ominous and incredible; the exaggeration
of a cruel caricature, the fatuity of solemn masquerading, the atrocious
grotesqueness of some military idol of Aztec conception and European
bedecking, awaiting the homage of worshippers. Don Jose approached
diplomatically this weird and inscrutable portent, and Mrs. Gould turned
her fascinated eyes away at last.

Charles, coming up to take leave of Sir John, heard him say, as he bent
over his wife's hand, "Certainly. Of course, my dear Mrs. Gould, for a
protege of yours! Not the slightest difficulty. Consider it done."

Going ashore in the same boat with the Goulds, Don Jose Avellanos was
very silent. Even in the Gould carriage he did not open his lips for
a long time. The mules trotted slowly away from the wharf between the
extended hands of the beggars, who for that day seemed to have abandoned
in a body the portals of churches. Charles Gould sat on the back seat
and looked away upon the plain. A multitude of booths made of green
boughs, of rushes, of odd pieces of plank eked out with bits of canvas
had been erected all over it for the sale of cana, of dulces, of fruit,
of cigars. Over little heaps of glowing charcoal Indian women, squatting
on mats, cooked food in black earthen pots, and boiled the water for the
mate gourds, which they offered in soft, caressing voices to the country
people. A racecourse had been staked out for the vaqueros; and away to
the left, from where the crowd was massed thickly about a huge temporary