the air. The old don sat on the long green bench by the sala door. His
heavy, flabby, leathery face had no wrinkles but those which curved
from the corners of the mouth to the chin. The thin upper lip was
habitually pressed hard against the small protruding under one, the
mouth ending in straight lines which seemed no part of the lips. His
small slanting eyes, usually stern, could snap with anger, as they did
to-day. The nose rose suddenly from the middle of his face; it might
have been applied by a child sculpturing with putty; the flat bridge
was crossed by erratic lines. A bang of grizzled hair escaped from the
black silk handkerchief wound as tightly as a turban about his head.
He wore short clothes of dark brown cloth, the jacket decorated
with large silver buttons, a red damask vest, shoes of embroidered
deer-skin, and a cravat of fine linen.

Chonita, in a white gown, a pale-green reboso about her shoulders, her
arms crossed, her head thoughtfully bent forward, walked slowly up and
down before him.

"Holy God!" cried the old man, pounding the floor with his stick.
"That they have dared to arrest my son!--the son of Guillermo Iturbi y
Moncada! That Alvarado, my friend and thy host, should have permitted
it!"

"Do not blame Alvarado, my father. Remember, he must listen to the
Departmental Junta; and this is their work." "Fool that I am!" she
added to herself, "why do I not tell who alone is to blame? But I need
no one to help me hate him!"

"Is it true that this Estenega of whom I hear so much is a member of
the Junta?"