“Are you wounded, Sir?” he asked, catching sight of the President’s face.
“It is nothing—a stone; but they were very violent. Someone had roused them; I had hoped to get away before the news was known. Who was it spoke to them?”
“Moret, the Civic Councillor, from the balcony of the hotel. A very dangerous man! He told them they were betrayed.”
“Betrayed? What audacity! Surely such language would come within the 20th Section of the Constitution: ‘Inciting to violence against the person of the Head of the State by misrepresentation or otherwise.’ ” The President was well versed in those clauses of the public law which were intended to strengthen the hands of the Executive. “Have him arrested, Sorrento. We cannot allow the majesty of Government to be insulted with impunity—or stay, perhaps it would be wiser to be magnanimous now that the matter is settled. I do not want a State prosecution just at present.” Then he added in a louder voice: “This young officer, Colonel, discharged his duty with great determination—a most excellent soldier. Please see that a note is made of it. Promotion should always go by merit, not by age, for services and not for service. We will not forget your behaviour, young man.”
He ascended the steps and entered the hall of the palace, leaving the subaltern, a boy of twenty-two, flushed with pleasure and excitement, to build high hopes of future command and success.
The hall was spacious and well-proportioned. It was decorated in the purest style of the Lauranian Republic, the arms of which were everywhere displayed. The pillars were of ancient marble and by their size and colour attested the wealth and magnificence of former days. The tessellated pavement presented a pleasing pattern. Elaborate mosaics on the walls depicted scenes from the national history: the foundation of the city; the peace of 1370; the reception of the envoys of the Great Mogul: the victory of Brota; the death of Saldanho, that austere patriot, who died rather than submit to a technical violation of the Constitution. And then coming down to later years, the walls showed the building of the Parliament House: the naval victory of Cape Cheronta, and finally the conclusion of the Civil War in 1883. On either side of the hall, in a deep alcove, a bronze fountain, playing amid surrounding palms and ferns, imparted a feeling of refreshing coolness to the eye and ear. Facing the entrance was a broad staircase, leading to the state rooms whose doors were concealed by crimson curtains.
A woman stood at the top of the stairs. Her hands rested on the marble balustrade; her white dress contrasted with the bright-coloured curtains behind her. She was very beautiful, but her face wore an expression of alarm and anxiety. Womanlike she asked three questions at once. “What has happened, Antonio? Have the people risen? Why have they been firing?” She paused timidly at the head of the stairs, as if fearing to descend.
“All is well,” replied the President in his official manner. “Some of the disaffected have rioted, but the Colonel here has taken every precaution and order reigns once more, dearest.” Then turning to Sorrento, he went on: “It is possible that the disturbances may be renewed. The troops should be confined to barracks and you may give them an extra day’s pay to drink the health of the Republic. Double the Guards and you had better have the streets patrolled tonight. In case anything happens, you will find me here. Good night, Colonel.” He walked up a few steps, and the War-Minister, bowing gravely, turned and departed.
The woman came down the stairs and they met midway. He took both her hands in his and smiled affectionately; she, standing one step above him, bent forward and kissed him. It was an amiable, though formal, salutation.
“Well,” he said, “we have got through today all right, my dear; but how long it can go on, I do not know; the revolutionaries seem to get stronger every day. It was a very dangerous moment just now in the square; but is over for the present.”
“I have passed an anxious hour,” she said, and then, catching sight for the first time of his bruised forehead, she started. “But you are wounded.”
“It is nothing,” said the President. “They threw stones; now, we used bullets; they are better arguments.”
“What happened at the Senate?”
“I had expected trouble, you know. I told them in my speech that, in spite of the unsettled state of affairs, we had decided to restore the ancient Constitution of the Republic, but that it had been necessary to purge the register of the disaffected and rebellious. The Mayor took it out of the box and they scrambled over each other to look at the total electorates for the divisions. When they saw how much they were reduced they were very angry. Godoy was speechless; he is a fool, that man. Louvet told them that it must be taken as an instalment, and that as things got more settled the franchise would be extended; but they howled with fury. Indeed, had it not been for the ushers and for a few men of the Guard, I believe they would have assaulted me there and then in the very Chamber itself. Moret shook his fist at me—ridiculous young ass—and rushed out to harangue the mob.”
“And Savrola?”
“Oh, Savrola—he was quite calm; he laughed when he saw the register. ‘It is only a question of a few months,’ he said; ‘I wonder you think it worth while.’ I
