his English touched
and softened by the accent of the foreigner, "had indulged in the
dangerous, though it would seem alluring, pastime of promoting a
revolution. Despite his unscrupulous character, he was possessed of an
engaging personality, and, on brief acquaintance, I, for one, liked
him. His skill and luck held good so long that it was only when the
insurgents were at the gates of the capital that a summary
court-martial gave him the verdict of death. I have no doubt that by
the laws of war it was a just award, yet so many men are guilty of
peddling revolutions, and the demand for such wares is so great in
some quarters, that he had my sympathy." The speaker bowed slightly,
as though conceding a point to a gallant adversary. It chanced that he
was looking directly at Saxon as he bowed.

The painter became suddenly conscious that he was according an
engrossed attention, and that the story-teller was narrowly watching
his fingers as they twisted the stem of his sauterne glass. The
fingers became at once motionless.

"He bore himself so undeniably well when he went out to his place
against a blank wall in the plaza, escorted by the firing squad,"
proceeded Senor Ribero evenly, "that one could not withhold
admiration. The picture remains with me. The sun on the yellow
cathedral wall ... a vine heavy with scarlet blossoms like splashes of
blood ... and twenty paces away the firing squad with their Mausers."

Once more, the speaker broke off, as though lost in retrospection of
something well-remembered. Beyond the girl's absorbed gaze, he saw
that of the painter, and his dark eyes for an instant glittered with
something like direct accusation.

"As they arranged the final details, he must have reflected somewhat
grimly on the irony of things, for at that very moment he could hear
the staccato popping of the guns he had smuggled past the vigilance of
the customs. The sound was coming nearer--telling him that in a
half-hour his friends would be victorious--too late to save him."

As Ribero paused, little Miss Buford, leaning forward across the
table, gave a sort of gasp.

"He was tall, athletic, gray-eyed," announced the attache
irrelevantly; "in his eyes dwelt something of the spirit of the
dreamer. He never faltered."

The speaker lifted his sauterne glass to his lips, and sipped the wine
deliberately.

"The _teniente_ in command inquired if he wished to pray," Ribero
added then, "but he shook his head almos