Marcos, however, did not take his seat, but stood on the platform looking towards the gate through which the passengers must come.
"Are you looking for some one ?" asked Sarrion.
"General Pacheco," was the reply; and then, after a pause, "Here he comes.

He is attended by three aides-de-camp and a squadron of orderlies.
He carries his head very high." "But his feet are on the ground," commented Sarrion, who was rolling himself a cigarette.

"Shall we invite him to come with us ?" "Yes." General Pacheco was one of those soldiers of the fifties who owed their success to a handsome face.

He wore a huge moustache, curling to his eyes, and had the air of an invincible conqueror--of hearts.

He had dined.