Manin's banter was interrupted by a bugle-call. Down the street came perhaps two hundred mounted troops. They wheeled into San Rafael Street at a gallop and disappeared in the direction of the suburbs.
"Now what does that mean?" murmured the druggist. "Wait here while I go to the roof where I can see something."
O'Reilly tried to compose himself, meanwhile becoming aware of a growing excitement in the street. Pedestrians had halted, shopkeepers had come to their doors, questions were flying from mouth to mouth. Then from the direction of the fort at the end of San Rafael Street sounded a faint rattling fusillade, more bugle-calls, and finally the thin, distant shouting of men.
"Rebels!" some one cried.
"Dios mio, they are attacking the city!"
"They have audacity, eh?"
The roofs were black with people now. Manin came hurrying down into the store.
"Something has gone wrong," he whispered. "They're fighting out yonder in the woods. There has been some treachery."
"It is ten-fifteen," said O'Reilly. "I must be going."
Manin stared at him. "You don't understand—"