It was the development of this trait that had given Julio so long a lease on life in spite of his many entanglements.
Roderic now made it his business to quit the stirring locality.
Little he cared to what lengths the mob went in their vigorous search—they could tear the old town wide open; but he had good reason to doubt whether they would receive any reward, since it was himself they sought, and he had high hopes of continuing to avoid their clutches.
The morning would find him on the plaza, with his eyes fastened upon the tobacconist's jaunty little shop—did he not know it well, for had he not many a time in the past loitered in that same queer establishment, selecting prime weeds from Senor Pedro's carefully arranged stock, and discussing the affairs of the universe with the white bearded philosopher who guided the destinies of the rendezvous where men met and formed plans and sought advice.
Ah! that was in the good days of long ago, before San Juan had heard the deep growl of hostile Yankee guns, before it was a capital offense to be known as an American in Porto Rico—halcyon days when Love's brush painted all around him a rosy hue, when life's horizon knew no cloud.
Since then he had suffered much, but thank heaven it seemed as though the old state was about to once more come upon him, and gold is doubly precious when refined by fire.
The clamor and confusion was left behind as he passed along various narrow streets, heading once again toward the Plaza Cristobal Colon.
Minor things attracted him as in the happy past when he knew no care—he even stopped where the sound of guitars announced some entertainment under a canvas shelter, and found his old acquaintances the gypsies in their weird dance, dark skinned sons and daughters of the warm Sierra Morena valleys.
Other scenes, common enough in this section of the capital, drew his attention, and he found a peculiar joy in watching two humble lovers, he with his sturdy arm about the maiden's waist, strolling along just beyond.