Inglaterra Charles speculated about the
complications of his determination to stay in Cuba until it was
liberated from Spain. That, he began to realize, might require years.
Questions far more difficult rose than any created by a mere immediate
sacrifice; the attitude of his father, for example; he, conceivably,
would try to force him home, shut off the supply of money. Meanwhile,
since the Inglaterra was quite expensive, he would move to a less
pretentious place. And, in the morning, Charles installed himself at
the Hotel San Felipe, kept on Ancha del Norte Street, near the bay, by
a German woman.

His room was on the top floor, on, really, a gallery leading to the
open roof that was much frequented after dinner in a cooling air which
bore the restrained masculine chords of guitars. On the right he could
see the flares of Morro Castle, and, farther, the western coast lying
black on the sea. He had his room there, and the first breakfast, but
his formal breakfast and dinner he took at the Restaurant Francais,
the Aguila d'Oro, or the Cafe Dominica. Late, with Andres and their
circle, their tertulia, Charles would idle at the El Louvre over
ice-cream or the sherbets called helados in Havana. On such occasions
they talked with a studied audible care of the most frivolous things;
while Charles cherished close at heart the sensation of their
dangerous secret and patient wisdom, the assurance that some day their
sacred resolution would like lightning shatter their pretence of
docility.

* * * * *

Yet, in spite of the dark texture of their minds, they were, at times,
casually happy, intent, together, on mundane affairs. They were, all
five, inseparable: Jaime Quintara, the eldest, was even more of an
exquisite than Andres; he imported his lemon-colored gloves by the box
from Paris, where they were made to his measure; and in them, it was
the common jest, he went to bed. He was almost fat, with absurdly
small feet and a perceptible moustache. In addition, he was in love
with a public girl who lived on Gloria Street; altogether he was a man
of the world. Remigio Florez was absolutely different: the son of a
great coffee estate in Pinar del Rio, of limitless riches, he was
still simple and unaffected, short, with a round cheerful face and
innocent lips. Tirso Labrador was tall and heavy, he had the carriage
of a cavalry officer, a dragoon; and, slow mentally, his chief
characteristic was a re