The head popped in. Soon there was a light on the ground floor. The door opened. A very stout man, barefooted, who had struggled into a pair of abnormally tight riding-breeches, faced them.
"Can it be possible?" he exclaimed, striking an attitude.
Dom Corria spoke not a word. He knew the value of effect, and could bide his time. The three passed into a lighted apartment. De Sylva placed himself under a chandelier, and took off a frayed straw hat which he had borrowed from someone on board the Unser Fritz. The colonel, a grotesque figure in his present deshabillé, bowed low before him.
"My President!—I salute you," he murmured.
"Thank you, General," said Dom Corria, smiling graciously. "I knew I could depend on you. How soon can you muster the regiment?"
"In half an hour, Excellency."
"See that there is plenty of ammunition for the machine guns. What of the artillery?"
"The three batteries stationed here are with us heart and soul."
"Colonel San Benavides, as chief of the staff, is acquainted with every detail. You, General, will assume command of the Army of Liberation. Some trunks were sent to you from Paris, I believe?"
"They are in the room prepared for your Excellency."