erial rule based upon the direct popular
vote. Caesarism was conservative. It was strong. It recognized the
legitimate needs of democracy which requires orders, titles, and
distinctions. They would be showered upon deserving men. Caesarism
was peace. It was progressive. It secured the prosperity of a country.
Pedrito Montero was carried away. Look at what the Second Empire had
done for France. It was a regime which delighted to honour men of Don
Carlos's stamp. The Second Empire fell, but that was because its chief
was devoid of that military genius which had raised General Montero to
the pinnacle of fame and glory. Pedrito elevated his hand jerkily to
help the idea of pinnacle, of fame. "We shall have many talks yet. We
shall understand each other thoroughly, Don Carlos!" he cried in a tone
of fellowship. Republicanism had done its work. Imperial democracy was
the power of the future. Pedrito, the guerrillero, showing his hand,
lowered his voice forcibly. A man singled out by his fellow-citizens for
the honourable nickname of El Rey de Sulaco could not but receive a full
recognition from an imperial democracy as a great captain of industry
and a person of weighty counsel, whose popular designation would be soon
replaced by a more solid title. "Eh, Don Carlos? No! What do you say?
Conde de Sulaco--Eh?--or marquis . . ."

He ceased. The air was cool on the Plaza, where a patrol of cavalry rode
round and round without penetrating into the streets, which resounded
with shouts and the strumming of guitars issuing from the open doors of
pulperias. The orders were not to interfere with the enjoyments of the
people. And above the roofs, next to the perpendicular lines of the
cathedral towers the snowy curve of Higuerota blocked a large space of
darkening blue sky before the windows of the Intendencia. After a time
Pedrito Montero, thrusting his hand in the bosom of his coat, bowed his
head with slow dignity. The audience was over.

Charles Gould on going out passed his hand over his forehead as if to
disperse the mists of an oppressive dream, whose grotesque extravagance
leaves behind a subtle sense of bodily danger and intellectual decay. In
the passages and on the staircases of the old palace Montero's troopers
lounged about insolently, smoking and making way for no one; the
clanking of sabres and spurs resounded all over the building. Three
silent groups of civilians in severe black waited in the main gallery,
formal and h