We stood for a moment close together, and suddenly the cries in the street brought us back from the drama in the low-ceiled, reeking room we had left.
“Ici! Ici! Voici le cheval!”
There was a loud rapping at the outer door, and a voice demanding admittance in Spanish in the name of his Excellency the Governor.
“Open it,” said Hélène. There was neither excitement in her voice, nor yet resignation. In those two words was told the philosophy of her life.
I opened the door. There, on the step, was an officer, perspiring, uniformed and plumed, and behind him a crowd of eager faces, white and black, that seemed to fill the street. He took a step into the room, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and poured out at me a torrent of Spanish of which I understood nothing. All at once his eye fell upon Hélène, who was standing behind me, and he stopped in the middle of his speech and pulled off his hat and bowed profoundly.
“Madame la Vicomtesse!” he stammered. I was no little surprised that she should be so well known.
“You will please to speak French, Monsieur,” she said; “this gentleman does not understand Spanish. What is it you desire?”
“A thousand pardons, Madame la Vicomtesse,” he said. “I am the Alcalde de Barrio, and a wild Americano has passed the sentry at St. Charles's gate without heeding his Excellency's authority and command. I saw the man with my own eyes. I should know him again in a hundred. We have traced him here to this house, Madame la Vicomtesse. Behold the horse which he rode!” The Alcalde turned and pointed at the beast. “Behold the horse which he rode, Madame la Vicomtesse. The animal will die.”
“Probably,” answered the Vicomtesse, in an even tone.
“But the man,” cried the Alcalde, “the man is here, Madame la Vicomtesse, here, in this house!”