On one side, General Montero, his bald head covered now by a plumed cocked hat, remained motionless on a skylight seat, a pair of big gauntleted hands folded on the hilt of the sabre standing upright between his legs.

The white plume, the coppery tint of his broad face, the blue-black of the moustaches under the curved beak, the mass of gold on sleeves and breast, the high shining boots with enormous spurs, the working nostrils, the imbecile and domineering stare of the glorious victor of Rio Seco had in them something ominous and incredible; the exaggeration of a cruel caricature, the fatuity of solemn masquerading, the atrocious grotesqueness of some military idol of Aztec conception and European bedecking, awaiting the homage of worshippers.

Don Jose approached diplomatically this weird and inscrutable portent, and Mrs.Gould turned her fascinated eyes away at last.
Charles, coming up to take leave of Sir John, heard him say, as he bent over his wife's hand, "Certainly.

Of course, my dear Mrs.Gould, for a protege of yours! Not the slightest difficulty.

Consider it done." Going ashore in the same boat with the Goulds, Don Jose Avellanos was very silent.