“And let us make a name.
”–Genesis.
The flame of lofty resolve burned with a high, present heat in Maximilian’s dreamy eyes. But the thing was not statesmanship. The danger dial pointed to some latest darling phantasy.
When the young prince–he was but thirty-three–descended from his carriage, he signed that the Cortège should not form as yet. And instead of mounting the colonnade steps, he turned and mingled with his humble subjects. A pleased murmur arose among the Indians. “Que simpático!” they breathed in little gasps of admiring awe.
The unusually tall and very fair young man, in the simplicity of black, with only the grand cross of St. Stephen about his neck, moved about among the ragged peons. Now and again he spoke to one and another, questioning earnestly. Anxious orderlies were quick to brush aside the touch of an elbow, but to those outside the circle, watching what he would do, he seemed alone with his people. And in thought, he really was. There was a great pity upon his face, and it was the more poignant because these timorous children could not comprehend the wretchedness which so appealed to him.
“And thou?” he demanded of an aged man whose tatters hung heavy in filth.
A look of poor simple craft came into the Indian’s face. “I, señor? María purísima, I am cursed of heaven. But the 132rich señor wishes to know–see!” and ere Monsieur Éloin could prevent, he bared a limb of rotting flesh. “If it were not for my leg, Your Mercy––”
“Animal,” snarled Éloin in his ear, “can’t you say ‘Your Majesty’?”
“Your–Majesty, or if I had children, I could make my debt–oh, grande, grande, twenty reales, maybe. And then, and then I should have a red and purple scrape, with a green eagle, like my nephew Felipe has.–He owes,” the man added in a kind of pride, “thirty reales, my nephew Felipe does.”
But his wiles failed. The rich señor turned toward the colonnade, his sailor’s easy swing giving way to a tread of determination. Also, the pure flame burned consumingly.