spread like wild fire. Before morning, the Liberationists were
ten thousand strong. Before night closed the roads again, the
Pesqueira genius wrote to Dom Corria under a flag of truce, and pointed
out that he served the _President_, not any crank who said he was
President, but the honored individual in whom the people of Brazil
placed their trust. Dom Corria replied in felicitous terms, and, as
the newspapers say, the incident ended. The navy sulked for a while,
because they held that Russo's treatment of the _Andorinha_ was not
cricket, or baseball, or whatsoever game appeals most to the Brazilian
sportsman. It was not even professional football, they said; but an
acrimonious discussion was closed by a strong hint from the Treasury
that pay-day might be postponed indefinitely if too much were made of a
regrettable accident to the guns of the Maceio artillery.

Meanwhile, Dom Corria, the man who did not forget, was puzzled by two
circumstances not of national importance. San Benavides, never a
demonstrative lover where Carmela was concerned, was a changed man. He
was severely wounded during the fight, and Carmela nursed him
assiduously, but there could be no doubt that he was under her thumb,
and would remain there. The indications were subtle but unmistakable.
Carmela even announced the date of their marriage.

Dom Corria remembered, of course, what San Benavides and his daughter
had said when they all met in the ballroom. It seemed to him that
Salvador was telling the truth and that Carmela was fibbing on that
occasion. But he let well enough alone. It was good for Salvador that
he should obey Carmela. He blessed them, and remarked that a really
"smart" wedding would be just the thing to inaugurate the new reign at
Rio de Janeiro.

He was far more perplexed by the untimely wrath of Philip Hozier. He
thought of it for at least five minutes next morning. Then he sought
Dickey Bulmer, who had just quitted Coke's bedroom, and was examining
the rare shrubs that bordered the lawn.

"What news of that brave man?" asked Dom Corria, and his deep voice
vibrated with real feeling.

"First-rate, sir," said Dickey. "The bullet is extracted, and the
doctor says 'e'll soon be all right. Leastways, that's wot Iris tells
me. I can't talk Portuguese meself, an' pore old Jimmie's langwidge
ain't fit to be repeated."

The President laughed.

"He is what you call a bundle of contradictions, eh?--a rough fellow
wi