Don Adolfo respectfully pressed the President's hand, and sat down in an armchair by his side. At the moment when we bring him on the stage, President Miramón, the general whose name was in every mouth, and who was justly considered the first warrior of Mexico, as he was her best administrator, was quite a young man: he was scarce twenty-six years of age, and yet, what noble and grand actions he had accomplished during the three years he had been in power! Physically, he was tall and elegantly formed; his manner was full of ease; his features, delicate, distinguished, and full of cleverness, displayed boldness and intelligence; his wide forehead was already wrinkled by the effect of thought; his well-opened black eyes had a straight and clear glance, whose depth, at times disturbed those upon whom he fixed them; his rather pale face and eyes bordered by a wide brown circle evidenced a long want of sleep.
"Ah," he said gladly, as he fell back in an easy chair, "my good genius has returned, he is going to bring me back my happiness that has fled."
Don Adolfo shook his head mournfully.
"What is the meaning of that movement, my friend?" the President continued.
"This means, General, that I fear it is too late."
"Too late! How so? Do you not think me capable of taking a startling revenge on my enemies?"
"I think you capable of every great and noble action, General," he replied; "unfortunately treachery surrounds you on all sides, and your friends are deserting you."
"That is only too true," the general said bitterly; "the clergy and the chief merchants, whose protector I constituted myself, whom I have defended everywhere and always, selfishly allow me to exhaust my last resources in protecting them, without deigning to come to my assistance, they will most likely regret me, if, as is only too probable, I succumb through their fault."
"Yes, that is true, General, and in the council which you held this night, of course you assured yourself in a definite manner of the intentions of these men to whom you have sacrificed everything."
"Yes," he said, frowning, and laying a bitter stress on his words, "to all my requests, to all my observations, they only gave one and the same answer: We cannot. They had agreed on it beforehand."