nder close at hand, followed by what seemed like a minute's
silence, when the echoes began to speak, carrying on the sound along the
valley and up into the mountains, where it rolled and died out, rose
again, and was eddied on and on, to finally fade away in a dull whisper.

For the time no one spoke, no one stirred, but stood as if turned to
stone, as so many statues where but a few minutes before all was
animation and suppressed excitement consequent upon what was looked upon
as the successful determination of the revolution.

Upon every face horror was now depicted, cheeks were pale, eyes dilated
and staring, and fear with all its horrors seemed to have enchained the
crowded _salle_.

There was one pale face though that seemed to stand out the central
figure of the gaily-dressed and uniformed crowd. It was that of the
President, who slowly stretched out his hands on high, his fists
clenching and his features convulsed. There was no horror there in his
looks, but one great reflex of the despair within his heart.

"Oh," he groaned, "and at a time like this, when I have fought so hard,
when I would have given up my very life for my unhappy country.
Gentlemen, we have a new enemy to contend with, and that is Fate. Am I
to own that all is lost, or appeal to you, my faithful friends, to begin
again to fight the deadly battle to the very last?"

"But what is it?" cried one of the officials.

"Yes," shouted another, "what does this mean?"

The President smiled bitterly, and stood for a few moments gazing back
sadly at his questioners as the crowd began to sway to and fro, some of
those present beginning to make for the door, but in an undecided way,
and swaying back to press once more upon their leader, as if feeling
that he was their only hope.

He seemed to read this in their faces, and suddenly the blood began to
flush like a cloud across his pallid brow, nerving him as it were to
action.

Throwing his right hand across his breast he sought for the hilt of his
sword, which his left raised ready, and he snatched the blade from its
scabbard, whirled it on high, and then held it pointed towards the
nearest open window, through which a thin dank odoured cloud of smoke
was beginning to float, telling its own tale of what the explosion was.

For a few moments the President was silent, rigid and statuesque in his
attitude, while his eyes flashed defiance and determination.

"Gentlemen," he cried, "you ask me what