"What are you saying to Madruja?" demanded the President.
"She is my wife," gasped Esteban, painfully. "You locked her up in this room and then ... took her!"
The dictator stared at the fellow.
"Locked her up and took her! Do you imagine I would take any woman? She came to me of her own will!" He turned to the girl and his voice changed: "Here, Madruja, my darling, my little heaven, deny this empty-headed rascal's charge!"
The girl stood staring at the two men.
"What, Señor el Presidente?" She trembled.
"Deny this charge. Or, rather, here is a villain who calls himself your husband; choose between us. You are free, you have always been free. And you, bribon, you too are free. I mean it.—Loose him men!—Choose between me and this wretch!"
The three guards released Esteban's arms. The peon looked about, then advanced a step toward the girl, with a bewildered joy coming into his sick face.
"Madruja!" he wavered, holding out his arms. "Madruja, did you hear what the Presidente said? Did you hear what the good Presidente said, little Madruja?" He was approaching her, shuddering with his sickness and his sudden rapture.
The girl looked at him fixedly. She withdrew a step.