PART SECOND: THE ISABELS
5. CHAPTER FIVE
(continued)
"You seem satisfied to see my life hang on a thread," Decoud
replied, with a broad smile. "And the other Montero, the 'my
trusted brother' of the proclamations, the guerrillero--haven't I
written that he was taking the guests' overcoats and changing
plates in Paris at our Legation in the intervals of spying on our
refugees there, in the time of Rojas? He will wash out that
sacred truth in blood. In my blood! Why do you look annoyed? This
is simply a bit of the biography of one of our great men. What do
you think he will do to me? There is a certain convent wall round
the corner of the Plaza, opposite the door of the Bull Ring. You
know? Opposite the door with the inscription, Intrada de la
Sombra.' Appropriate, perhaps! That's where the uncle of our host
gave up his Anglo-South-American soul. And, note, he might have
run away. A man who has fought with weapons may run away. You
might have let me go with Barrios if you had cared for me. I
would have carried one of those rifles, in which Don Jose
believes, with the greatest satisfaction, in the ranks of poor
peons and Indios, that know nothing either of reason or politics.
The most forlorn hope in the most forlorn army on earth would
have been safer than that for which you made me stay here. When
you make war you may retreat, but not when you spend your time in
inciting poor ignorant fools to kill and to die."
His tone remained light, and as if unaware of his presence she
stood motionless, her hands clasped lightly, the fan hanging down
from her interlaced fingers. He waited for a while, and then--
"I shall go to the wall," he said, with a sort of jocular
desperation.
Even that declaration did not make her look at him. Her head
remained still, her eyes fixed upon the house of the Avellanos,
whose chipped pilasters, broken cornices, the whole degradation
of dignity was hidden now by the gathering dusk of the street. In
her whole figure her lips alone moved, forming the words--
"Martin, you will make me cry."
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