“Yes, yes!”
“In a word, why not brush aside our archduke? He’s harmless, now, he’s insignificant? Why not take from him the only dignity left, that of dying?”
“Of course, Señor Juarez! Of course!”
449“And at the same time win bright renown for ourselves, instead of what will be called harsh cruelty?”
“Surely!”
The smile vanished. The large mouth closed tightly.
“No,” spoke the judge of iron. “He dies! That is the truest mercy, a mercy to those who might otherwise follow him here. And we, señorita, we have already suffered enough from Europe.”
“But the other two?” pleaded Jacqueline. “They are Mexicans.”
“They are that, por Dios, and they make me proud of my race. Miramon, Mejía, they are the leaven. They redeem Lopez, they redeem Marquez, they redeem the deserters who now so largely form my armies, who before had deserted me for the French invasion. By the signal example of these two men to die to-morrow, the world shall know that Mexicans are not all traitors. And as we grow, we Mexicans, we may grow beyond the empty loyalty of glowing Spanish words. Remembering such an example, we may come to be, in our very hearts, breathing things of honor. We have been shackled because of infamy during the last centuries. Can you wonder, then, that we use the treacherous weapon of the Conquistadores?–But that’s apart. The loyalty of Miramon and Mejía has been loyalty to an invader, a wrong their country will not forgive. But our cultured gentleman of Europe, our vain fool who would regenerate the poor Indito, he will perhaps not feel so ashamed of us, not when he has two such companions in death, and not when he learns, though painfully, that the rod of Mexican justice respects neither immunity nor privilege of birth. There, señorita, I’ve had to talk more about this one individual than about the hundreds of others who have been punished for much less than he.”
“But it must be terrible to die, señor. And he doesn’t realize, while a delay of only a few days––”