"But they haven't," said I, "and Bolivar has; which makes all the difference."
"Look!" exclaimed he contemptuously, as the carriage stopped; "isn't it like a circus show?"
In front of a house stood a group of officers dressed in the most magnificent and gorgeous uniforms. As San Martin stepped from the carriage, one of them, moving a pace forward, embraced him.
"That's Bolivar!" whispered Guido, and I gazed at the great captain with intense interest.
Perhaps I was prejudiced against him, but he did not come up to my expectations. He was short, thin, and narrow-chested, his skin was sallow, his high but narrow forehead was deeply lined. His hair was black and curly; he had thick lips and beautiful white teeth, which he was fond of showing. His eyes were large and black but deeply sunken; now bright and sparkling, again dull and glassy. His features, to me at least, were harsh and unpleasing; but he was evidently a man of great energy, to whom action was as the breath of life.
Arm in arm the two leaders entered the house, Guido and I following with Bolivar's staff. The saloon presented a striking scene, being filled with officers in brilliant uniforms and by beautifully-dressed ladies. A young girl, stepping forward, greeted San Martin, and placed a laurel wreath of gold upon his head.
"What rubbish!" muttered Guido testily. "Does she think he is as great a mummer as Bolivar?"
"Hush!" I whispered, not wishing his outspoken comments to be heard. "See, he is taking it off."
We could not hear what he said, but he spoke pleasantly, and beckoning to Guido, placed the wreath in his hand.
"Take great care of this," said he; "I value it highly for the sake of the giver."