“So much,” retorted Tiburcio, “that to-morrow we will have more rebels yet. So much, that what with freeing peons and confiscating nationalized church lands and giving them back to the church–well, a very little more might decide between Empire and Republic.”
“A little more? What do you mean?”
“I mean money for the rebels. Luz’s father is rich. If he knew that Maximilian––”
“Hombre, hombre, he’s a miser!”
“Just the same, I’m a loyal Imperialist, and if you are, too, you will take good care to tell nothing to Don Anastasio.”
“You forget, señor, that I am the one to say that to you.”
“Then don’t forget, Colonel Lopez. Do not forget that she fell, that it was a simple accident.”
“Yes, a simple accident. Wait here, I am going to bring her father.”
181On returning Lopez sent the guards away, and he and Murguía were alone together. The old man stood dazed, unresisting.
“One minute more,” said Lopez. “First, I must tell you something. And afterward, you will remember. Yes, you will remember–afterward. You know who I am, that I command the Dragoons of the Empress.–Are you listening? But do you know that, in a way, I am Maximilian’s confidant? Whenever he walks or rides, incognito, dressed as a ranchero, I alone go with him, as I did during the past ten days while we stopped at Las Palmas, three leagues from here. The very first evening there, we two rode out, with our cloaks about us. He likes to commune with nature, and gather curious flowers which he pastes in a book and labels with Latin names. But this time he was interested in peons, yet as he had a delicacy about prying into his host’s business, we rode until we left Las Palmas behind us. His Majesty would gaze on the hills and look at the sunset, and he talked to me of a poetic calm about them which made him long for he knew not what. And Murguía––”