the people in the sala.

Outside it had grown dark. From the deep trench of shadow between the
houses, lit up vaguely by the glimmer of street lamps, ascended the
evening silence of Sulaco; the silence of a town with few carriages,
of unshod horses, and a softly sandalled population. The windows of
the Casa Gould flung their shining parallelograms upon the house of
the Avellanos. Now and then a shuffle of feet passed below with the
pulsating red glow of a cigarette at the foot of the walls; and the
night air, as if cooled by the snows of Higuerota, refreshed their
faces.

"We Occidentals," said Martin Decoud, using the usual term the
provincials of Sulaco applied to themselves, "have been always distinct
and separated. As long as we hold Cayta nothing can reach us. In all our
troubles no army has marched over those mountains. A revolution in the
central provinces isolates us at once. Look how complete it is now! The
news of Barrios' movement will be cabled to the United States, and
only in that way will it reach Sta. Marta by the cable from the other
seaboard. We have the greatest riches, the greatest fertility, the
purest blood in our great families, the most laborious population. The
Occidental Province should stand alone. The early Federalism was not
bad for us. Then came this union which Don Henrique Gould resisted.
It opened the road to tyranny; and, ever since, the rest of Costaguana
hangs like a millstone round our necks. The Occidental territory is
large enough to make any man's country. Look at the mountains! Nature
itself seems to cry to us, 'Separate!'"

She made an energetic gesture of negation. A silence fell.

"Oh, yes, I know it's contrary to the doctrine laid down in the 'History
of Fifty Years' Misrule.' I am only trying to be sensible. But my sense
seems always to give you cause for offence. Have I startled you very
much with this perfectly reasonable aspiration?"

She shook her head. No, she was not startled, but the idea shocked her
early convictions. Her patriotism was larger. She had never considered
that possibility.

"It may yet be the means of saving some of your convictions," he said,
prophetically.

She did not answer. She seemed tired. They leaned side by side on the
rail of the little balcony, very friendly, having exhausted politics,
giving themselves up to the silent feeling of their nearness, in one of
those profound pauses that fall upon the rhythm of passion. Towards the
plaza