We indulged in little conversation. Each had sufficient to occupy his thoughts, and sunset was not very far away, after all. To me this ending of the bold conspiracy was not surprising, for I had often thought that when Dom Pedro chose to strike he would strike in a way that would deter all plotting against the government for some time to come. And life is of little value in these South American countries.
“Where are the records?” I whispered to Dom Miguel, who sat near me.
“Safe with Fonseca in Rio,” he answered.
“Do you imagine that Fonseca will succeed?” I continued.
“He is sure to,” said the chief, a soft gleam lighting his eyes. “It is only we who have failed, my friend.” He paused a moment, and then resumed: “I am sorry I have brought you to this, Robert. For the rest of us it matters little that we die. Is not a free Brazil a glorious prize to be won by the purchase of a few lives?”
It was futile to answer. A free Brazil meant little to me, I reflected; but to die with Lesba was a bit comforting, after all. I must steel myself to meet death as bravely as this girl was sure to do.
Paola, after sitting long silent, addressed Valcour, who, since the captain’s exit, had been staring from the window that faced the forest.
“What did de Souza say to Lesba?” he asked.
The spy turned around with a countenance more composed and cheerful than he had before shown, and answered:
“He offered to save her from death if she would marry him.”