Hark! a bell! He springs to the window. Valois sees a little
chapel, with its wooden cross planted in front. Is there a priest
here? The boy is of the old faith. He looks for a possible friend
in the padre. Blessed bell of peace and hope!

Sturdy and serious is the major-domo who briskly enters Valois'
room.

"Do you speak Spanish?" he flatly demands in that musical tongue.

"Yes," says Maxime, without hesitation. He knows no subterfuge will
avail. His wits must guard his head.

"Give me your name, rank, and story," demands the steward.

Valois briefs his life history.

"You will be taken to the Commandante. I advise you not to forget
yourself; you may find a lariat around your neck." With which
admonition the major-domo leaves. He tosses Maxime a bunch of
cigaritos, and offers him a light ere going, with some show of
courtesy.

Valois builds no fallacious hopes on this slender concession. He
knows the strange Mexicans. They would postpone a military execution
if the condemned asked for a smoke.

Facing his fate, Maxime decides, while crossing the plaza, to
conceal nothing. He can honorably tell his story. Foreigners have
been gathering in California for years. The Commandante can easily