He looked at the sky, at the black summits of the hills.

He stood up, and his inseparable sword clanked on the stony ground.
"Ah, well," he growled, "I have done with women.

They have had the best of my life.

What is left I give to Brazil." So he, too, made for Las Flores, but slowly, for he was quite exhausted, and his limbs were stiff with the rigors of a wild day in the saddle.
Carmela went back to a household that paid scant heed to her screaming.
Dom Corria was there, bare-headed, his gorgeous uniform sword-slashed and blood-bespattered.

General Russo, too, was beating his capacious chest and shouting: "God's bones, let us make a fight of it!" A sprinkling of soldiers, all dismounted cavalry or gunners, a few disheveled officers, had accompanied De Sylva in his flight.