“Yes,” she said, “he is here.”
“Sancta Maria! Madame,” he exclaimed, “I—I who speak to you have come to get him. He has defied his Excellency's commands. Where is he?”
“He is in that room,” said the Vicomtesse, pointing at the bedroom door.
The Alcalde took a step forward. She stopped him by a quick gesture.
“He is in that room with his mother,” she said, “and his mother has the yellow fever. Come, we will go to him.” And she put her hand upon the door.
“Yellow fever!” cried the Alcalde, and his voice was thick with terror. There was a moment's silence as he stood rooted to the floor. I did not wonder then, but I have since thought it remarkable that the words spoken low by both of them should have been caught up on the banquette and passed into the street. Impassive, I heard it echoed from a score of throats, I saw men and women stampeding like frightened sheep, I heard their footfalls and their cries as they ran. A tawdry constable, who held with a trembling hand the bridle of the tired horse, alone remained.
“Yellow fever!” the Alcalde repeated
The Vicomtesse inclined her head.
He was silent again for a while, uncertain, and then, without comprehending, I saw the man's eyes grow smaller and a smile play about his mouth. He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new admiration to which she paid no heed.
“I am sorry, Madame la Vicomtesse,” he began, “but—”