"Then you are not rebels, Ronie?"
"No, sir—that is, we have not committed ourselves as being against the government."
"Good! You evidently carry a level head. I am at the head of a regiment fighting for President Castro. We were in hot pursuit of a body of the insurgents whom we routed in a fight below here. But who is this woman with you?"
"She is a captive in the hands of Rhoades' guerrillas. I do not know her name. Perhaps she will give it herself. We were trying to strike a blow in her behalf."
The strange woman, thus appealed to, said, in that musical voice so common to the better class of Venezuelans:
"You are very kind, señors. I do not know that you would care to hear my name, for it has too often been a bone of contention in this unhappy land. My husband was Francisco de Caprian. I am not ashamed to say that."
Colonel Marchand uttered an exclamation of surprise, and, though Ronie Rand was expecting this reply, he could not wholly conceal his emotion at the mention of that name which he had learned to both fear and respect. He could not refrain from saying:
"You are Francisco's mother?"
"You know my son!" she cried somewhat wildly.
"We met him on the Libertador, señora. He is now in prison at San Carlos with our friend."