ridden from Monterey, begged him as a younger man
to waive informality, and dine at the house of the Commandante that
very day. Rezanov had complied as a matter of course, and now he was
alone with the men who held his fate in their hands. The dark worn
rugged face of Don Jose, who had been skilfully prepared by his oldest
daughter to think well of the Russian, beamed with good-will and
interest, in spite of lingering doubts; but the lank, wiry figure of
the Governor, who was as dignified as only a blond Spaniard can be, was
fairly rigid with the severe formality he reserved for occasions of
ceremony--being a gentleman who loved good company and cheer--and his
sharp gray eyes were almost shut in the effort to penetrate the designs
of this deputy, this symbol, this index in cipher, of a dreaded race.
Rezanov smoked calmly, made himself comfortable on the slippery
horse-hair chair, though with no loss of dignity, and beat about the
bush with the others until the Governor betrayed himself at last by a
chance remark:

"What you say of the neighborly instincts of the Russian colonists for
the Spanish on this coast interests me deeply, Excellency, but if
Russia is at war with Spain--"

"Russia is not at war with Spain," said Rezanov, with a flash of
amusement in his half-closed eyes. "Napoleon Bonaparte is encamped
about half way between the two countries. They could not get at each
other if they wished. While that man is at large, Europe will be at
war with him, no two nations with each other."

"Ah!" exclaimed Arrillaga. "That is a manner of reasoning that had not
occurred to me."

The Commandante had spat at the mention of the usurper's name and
muttered "Chinchosa!" and Rezanov, recalling his first conversation
with Concha, looked into the honest eyes of the monarchist with a
direct and hearty sympathy.

"No better epithet for him," he said. "And the sooner Europe combines
to get rid of him the better. But until it does, count upon a common
grievance to unite your country and mine."

"Good!" muttered the Governor. "Good! I am glad that nightmare has
lifted its bat's wings from our poor California. Captain O'Cain's raid
two years ago made me apprehensive, for he took away some eleven
hundred of our otter skins and his hunters were Aleutians--subjects of
the Tsar. A negro that deserted gave the information that they were
furnished the Bostonian by the chief manager of your
Company--Baranhov--whose reputat