th
which he had nothing in common. He must succeed in his endeavor, put
into actuality at this supreme moment his selfless projection of duty,
responsibility. For it was, in spite of his preoccupation with its
personal possibilities, an ideal to which he, as an entity, was
subordinated. He recalled the increasing number of destinies in which
he was involved, that were being thrust upon him, and for which, at
best, he would become accountable. So much more lay in the immediate
future than was promised--justified--in the present.

Here, too, Andres was at fault--precisely the accident had happened to
him that he was so strict in facing for others. His absorption
wouldn't, as an infatuation, continue; or, rather, it could not have
lasted ... long. But already it had been long enough to finish, to
kill, Andres. Charles rose uncontrollably to his feet; he would save
his friend from the menace of the whole Spanish army. But de Vaca,
whose every accent carried conviction, had been explicit: he
particularly would not have spoken under any other circumstance. He
had, in reality, been tremendously flattering in depending to such a
degree on Charles' coolness and intellect. Gaspar de Vaca would have
taken no interest in a sentimentalist. The officer without question
had found in Charles Abbott a strain of character, a resolution, which
he understood, approved; to a certain extent built on. He had, in
effect, concluded that Charles and himself would act similarly in
similar positions.

It was, Charles decided, at an end; he must go on as he had begun. A
strange numb species of calm settled over him. The vast crowded floor,
the boxes on either hand, sweeping tier on tier to the far hidden
ceiling, surrounding the immense chandelier glittering with crystal
lustres, were all removed, distant, from him. The Tacon Theatre took
on the appearance of a limitless pit into which all human life had
been poured, arbitrarily thrown together, and, in the semblance of
masquerading gaiety, made to whirl in a time that had in its measure
the rattle of bones, a drumming on skulls. This conception sickened
him, he could, he felt, no longer breathe in a closeness which he
imagined as fetid; and Charles realized that, at least, there was no
need for him to remain. Indeed, it would be better in every way to
avoid the impending, the immediate, catastrophe.

With a hasty incoherent remark he secured his hat and left the box.
Outside, in the bare corri