Now we passed the cathedral; people were still going and coming, and I could hear the chant of praise from within, as though the victory had reached even this holy place and been favorably received.
It calmed my excited spirits, for, somehow, the sweet music seemed like a benison—I felt that I had been instrumental in working good to this people, and all sorts of ridiculously Quixotic resolutions passed through my brain.
The little house at last.
In answer to our knock the door opened, and I saw Hildegarde, eager and trembling, awaiting me.
“Madam,” said Robbins, seriously, “it is my duty, as well as pleasure, to inform you that your husband has just been declared president of this glorious republic.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A PRESIDENT FOR ONE NIGHT.
Hildegarde had intended to rush forward and throw herself into my arms. Poor girl! She had suffered torments during the last two hours, while the uproar continued around the citadel.
At Robbins’ astonishing declaration she stood still and looked at me with startled eyes.
Really, there was cause for surprise; it is not every woman who bids her husband adieu as a plain, everyday American citizen, and welcomes him back two hours later as the president of a bellicose little republic.