here the long rows of
gas lights now gleamed through the foliage; thence into a side
thoroughfare, as dark as the other street was bright, pausing before
a doorway, illumined by a single yellow flame that flickered in
the draft and threatened to leave the entrance in total obscurity.
Mounting two flights of stairs, no better lighted than the hall
below, the land baron reached a doorway, where he paused and
knocked. In answer to his summons a slide was quickly slipped back,
and through the aperture floated an alcoholic breath.

"Who is it?"

"A Knight of the Golden Square," said the caller, impatiently. "Open
the door."

The man obeyed and the land baron was admitted to the hall of an
organization which had its inception in Texas; a society not unlike
the Secret Session Legation of the Civil War, having for its object
the overthrow of the government, the carrying of mails and despatches
and other like business. Here was gathered a choice aggregation of
Mexican sympathizers, a conclave hostile to the North. Composed of
many nationalities, the polished continental adventurer rubbed
shoulders with the Spanish politicians; the swarthy agents of Santa
Anna brushed against the secret enemies of northern aggression. A
small bar, unpretentious but convenient, occupied a portion of one end
of the room, and a brisk manipulator of juleps presided over this
popular corner.

Half-disdainfully, the land baron mingled with the heterogeneous
assembly; half-ironically, his eye swept the group at the bar--the
paid spy, the needy black-sheep; the patriot, the swashbuckler; men
with and without a career. As Mauville stepped forward, a quiet,
dark-looking man, obviously a Mexican, not without a certain
distinguished carriage, immediately approached the newcomer.

"You have come? Good!" he said, and drew Mauville aside. They
conversed in low tones, occasionally glancing about them at the
others.

In the hall below the rhythm of a waltz now made itself heard, and the
land baron, having received certain papers which committed him to a
hazardous service, prepared to leave.

"Here's luck!" said a man on his left, raising his glass. At these
words several of the company turned.

"Send it south!" roared a Texan Furioso, emptying his tumbler.

"Send it south!" echoed the others, and "south" the fragrant juleps
were "sent," as the land baron unceremoniously tore himself away from
the group.

"They say the floods are rising," said the m