es
Gould said also that the destruction of the San Tome mine would cause
the ruin of other undertakings, the withdrawal of European capital, the
withholding, most probably, of the last instalment of the foreign loan.
That stony fiend of a man said all these things (which were accessible
to His Excellency's intelligence) in a coldblooded manner which made one
shudder.

A long course of reading historical works, light and gossipy in tone,
carried out in garrets of Parisian hotels, sprawling on an untidy bed,
to the neglect of his duties, menial or otherwise, had affected the
manners of Pedro Montero. Had he seen around him the splendour of the
old Intendencia, the magnificent hangings, the gilt furniture ranged
along the walls; had he stood upon a dais on a noble square of red
carpet, he would have probably been very dangerous from a sense of
success and elevation. But in this sacked and devastated residence, with
the three pieces of common furniture huddled up in the middle of the
vast apartment, Pedrito's imagination was subdued by a feeling of
insecurity and impermanence. That feeling and the firm attitude
of Charles Gould who had not once, so far, pronounced the word
"Excellency," diminished him in his own eyes. He assumed the tone of an
enlightened man of the world, and begged Charles Gould to dismiss from
his mind every cause for alarm. He was now conversing, he reminded
him, with the brother of the master of the country, charged with a
reorganizing mission. The trusted brother of the master of the country,
he repeated. Nothing was further from the thoughts of that wise and
patriotic hero than ideas of destruction. "I entreat you, Don Carlos,
not to give way to your anti-democratic prejudices," he cried, in a
burst of condescending effusion.

Pedrito Montero surprised one at first sight by the vast development of
his bald forehead, a shiny yellow expanse between the crinkly coal-black
tufts of hair without any lustre, the engaging form of his mouth, and
an unexpectedly cultivated voice. But his eyes, very glistening as if
freshly painted on each side of his hooked nose, had a round, hopeless,
birdlike stare when opened fully. Now, however, he narrowed them
agreeably, throwing his square chin up and speaking with closed teeth
slightly through the nose, with what he imagined to be the manner of a
grand seigneur.

In that attitude, he declared suddenly that the highest expression of
democracy was Caesarism: the imp