le table in the light of two
candles he busied himself in composing an address, or rather a solemn
declaration to be presented to Pedrito Montero by a deputation of such
members of Assembly as had elected to remain in town. His idea was
to propitiate him in order to save the form at least of parliamentary
institutions. Seated before a blank sheet of paper, a goose-quill pen in
his hand and surged upon from all sides, he turned to the right and to
the left, repeating with solemn insistence--

"Caballeros, a moment of silence! A moment of silence! We ought to make
it clear that we bow in all good faith to the accomplished facts."

The utterance of that phrase seemed to give him a melancholy
satisfaction. The hubbub of voices round him was growing strained and
hoarse. In the sudden pauses the excited grimacing of the faces would
sink all at once into the stillness of profound dejection.

Meantime, the exodus had begun. Carretas full of ladies and children
rolled swaying across the Plaza, with men walking or riding by their
side; mounted parties followed on mules and horses; the poorest were
setting out on foot, men and women carrying bundles, clasping babies in
their arms, leading old people, dragging along the bigger children. When
Charles Gould, after leaving the doctor and the engineer at the Casa
Viola, entered the town by the harbour gate, all those that had meant to
go were gone, and the others had barricaded themselves in their houses.
In the whole dark street there was only one spot of flickering lights
and moving figures, where the Senor Administrador recognized his wife's
carriage waiting at the door of the Avellanos's house. He rode up,
almost unnoticed, and looked on without a word while some of his own
servants came out of the gate carrying Don Jose Avellanos, who, with
closed eyes and motionless features, appeared perfectly lifeless. His
wife and Antonia walked on each side of the improvised stretcher, which
was put at once into the carriage. The two women embraced; while from
the other side of the landau Father Corbelan's emissary, with his ragged
beard all streaked with grey, and high, bronzed cheek-bones, stared,
sitting upright in the saddle. Then Antonia, dry-eyed, got in by the
side of the stretcher, and, after making the sign of the cross rapidly,
lowered a thick veil upon her face. The servants and the three or four
neighbours who had come to assist, stood back, uncovering their heads.
On the box, I