ase,
the Citizen Saviour of the Country might have thought this benighted
aristocrat too broken in health and spirit and fortune to be any longer
dangerous. Or, perhaps, it may have been a simple caprice. Guzman Bento,
usually full of fanciful fears and brooding suspicions, had sudden
accesses of unreasonable self-confidence when he perceived himself
elevated on a pinnacle of power and safety beyond the reach of mere
mortal plotters. At such times he would impulsively command the
celebration of a solemn Mass of thanksgiving, which would be sung in
great pomp in the cathedral of Sta. Marta by the trembling, subservient
Archbishop of his creation. He heard it sitting in a gilt armchair
placed before the high altar, surrounded by the civil and military heads
of his Government. The unofficial world of Sta. Marta would crowd into
the cathedral, for it was not quite safe for anybody of mark to stay
away from these manifestations of presidential piety. Having thus
acknowledged the only power he was at all disposed to recognize as
above himself, he would scatter acts of political grace in a sardonic
wantonness of clemency. There was no other way left now to enjoy his
power but by seeing his crushed adversaries crawl impotently into the
light of day out of the dark, noisome cells of the Collegio. Their
harmlessness fed his insatiable vanity, and they could always be got
hold of again. It was the rule for all the women of their families to
present thanks afterwards in a special audience. The incarnation of that
strange god, El Gobierno Supremo, received them standing, cocked hat on
head, and exhorted them in a menacing mutter to show their gratitude
by bringing up their children in fidelity to the democratic form of
government, "which I have established for the happiness of our country."
His front teeth having been knocked out in some accident of his former
herdsman's life, his utterance was spluttering and indistinct. He
had been working for Costaguana alone in the midst of treachery and
opposition. Let it cease now lest he should become weary of forgiving!

Don Jose Avellanos had known this forgiveness.

He was broken in health and fortune deplorably enough to present a truly
gratifying spectacle to the supreme chief of democratic institutions.
He retired to Sulaco. His wife had an estate in that province, and she
nursed him back to life out of the house of death and captivity. When
she died, their daughter, an only child, was