s calm, and he attired
himself carefully. He chose his general's uniform, with its rich dark
blue, and scarlet cordon. Nor did he forget the star of some royal
order, which to common men seemed a cotillion favor. When he should step
forth that morning, it was to play a world role. The prince must be
serene in the moment of trial. The nations must know that Destiny had
him in hand. And musing thus, he parted his golden beard with dainty
precision. Within a month Europe would acclaim him reverently. He noted
that his high boots glistened. Mejia and the other two, hurrying to him,
fell back in admiration to behold how placid he was.

"Gentlemen," said he, "to leave here, or die! There's nothing else."

He noticed a soft heap at the door, and picked it up.

"Lopez's cloak, a disguise!" he exclaimed. "God bless the poor fellow,
he left it for me."

He wrapped the garment about him, took his pistols, and led the way. In
the dark corridor down stairs a Republican sentry mistook the cool,
commanding figure for one of his own generals, and presented arms.
Maximilian gravely saluted, and with his three companions passed out.

The Plaza was a blurred scene of confusion. Men were awakening to find
their arms gone, and themselves covered by muskets. Shots had been
fired. Curses abounded. Entire companies were being marched away as
prisoners. Republican officers either thought that Maximilian was Lopez,
from his cloak and height, or were too distracted to notice. It is
possible, too, that the victors would have had him escape, that they
might not have the trouble of his disposal, and that they preferred that
he should not thrust it on them. At any rate, he and the three behind
pushed their way undisturbed through cannon and brown stolid men in
gray, and reached the spot where the Plaza narrows into a street that
gently slopes down into the town. But here a guard was posted.

"Pues, hombre, they're civilians, let them pass."

Maximilian turned on him who spoke, and beheld the blackmailer, scout,
deserter, Don Tiburcio. He wore now the uniform of a Republican
explorador. His crossed eye gleamed so humorously up at the Emperor, it
might have been insolence, but it was only the proffered sharing of a
jest. His matter-of-fact tone prevailed, and the guard stood aside. The
four passed on down the street. In comical melancholy Don Tiburcio
looked after them, and then he perceived that a fifth had slipped by the
guard and was followin