“Hear me, Captain de Souza,” said Valcour, drawing himself up proudly; “you were instructed to obey my commands. I order you to convey the prisoners to Rio, that they may be tried in a court of justice.”
The other shook his head.
“The order is to me personally, and I must obey. A soldier never questions the commands of his superiors.”
“But I am your superior!”
“Not in this affair, Senhor Valcour. And the Emperor’s order is doubtless to be obeyed above that of his spy.”
Valcour winced, and turned away to pace the floor nervously.
“But the lady—surely you will not execute the Donzella Paola in this brutal fashion!” he protested, after an interval of silence.
The captain flushed, and then grew pale.
“I will speak with the lady,” he said, and motioning aside the guard he entered the room where Lesba was confined, and closed the door after him.
We could hear his voice through the thin partition, speaking in low and earnest tones. Then a burst of merry laughter from Lesba fell upon our ears with something of a shock, for the matter seemed serious enough to insure gravity. Evidently the captain protested, but the girl’s high-pitched tones and peals of merriment indicated that she was amusing herself at his expense, and suddenly the door burst open and de Souza stumbled out with a red and angry face.