Читать книгу The Man and His Kingdom - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 12

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Dene, as he made his way across the Square to the President's house, found every corner blocked with little groups of gesticulating and excited men talking eagerly together and pointing often to the dingy-looking prison on the hill. One name he heard continually upon their lips—"Sagasta"—and the same name had just been pronounced by the Señora Rimarez when the black footman in resplendent livery opened the drawing-room door and announced his arrival to the President and his wife.

"Sagasta!" Dene repeated as he bowed to the Señora. "Is it a man's name, or a new orchid, or the name of a country? I heard it a dozen times as I crossed the Plaza, and again from your lips as I entered the room."

"Sagasta," said a voice from behind him, "is the name of a man who is most unjustly kept in the prison of San Martina."

Dene turned round, and had some difficulty in restraining the exclamation which rose to his lips. Lucia had glided out from the conservatory, looking like a beautiful picture in the white muslin gown which hung so softly and gracefully about her straight, slim figure. A necklace of pearls gleamed upon her white throat, a single scarlet flower seemed somehow to have entwined itself amongst the dark coils of her jet-black hair. She welcomed Dene with a brilliant smile, and for the first time he realised how charming her natural expression was. But almost as he bent over her fingers some shadow of the old sullenness fell upon her face.

"Is that possible?" Dene remarked a little absently, with his eyes still fixed upon Lucia, "in so admirably governed a State as San Martina?"

"My daughter," the President said stiffly, with a disapproving glance towards her, "is naturally wholly ignorant of the politics of the State. Sagasta was at one time a very clever and a very useful citizen, and no one regretted more than I the—er—ill-advised behaviour which compelled us to take severe measures."

Lucia shrugged her beautiful shoulders, but her eyes were lit with fire.

"Sagasta was ill-advised, it is true," she said. "He was ill-advised to trust in those who betrayed him. Yet he was honest, and there are few like him in San Martina. If there were more we should have a peaceful and happy time, instead of trembling day by day lest some one or other should proclaim a revolution."

"Is it really as bad as that?" Dene asked gravely.

The President was white with rage, but he kept his dignity.

"I trust you will remember, Señor Dene," he said, "that my daughter is young and impressionable, and also that she is speaking of a matter concerning which she is wholly ignorant."

Lucia's lip curled, but she answered nothing. Dinner was announced, and Dene gave his arm to the Señora. For a few minutes conversation was abandoned; but as they crossed the great stone hall Dene could hear the President talking to Lucia in a low, severe tone. The girl took her seat with a hard, defiant look upon her face—her whole expression for the moment was changed.

Dinner was served at a round table in the centre of a great, somewhat bare-looking apartment. Four negro servants, in handsome livery and superintended by an English butler, waited at table, and two more worked the great fans which hung from the ceiling. The cooking and wines were alike excellent. As the dinner progressed Dene grew a little thoughtful He had seen so much poverty during the day amongst the half-breeds and lower classes of the town, that the contrast with such magnificence as this was rather unpleasantly suggestive. There were no guests, but Eugène came in late and took his seat after a constrained greeting with Dene.

There was at first but little conversation. Lucia, who ate very little and drank water, was taciturn and almost morose; her mother, who ate a great deal, beamed on everybody, and only attempted monosyllables. The President was for a while severely silent. As the entries were brought in, however, he thawed a little, and returned to the former subject of conversation.

"You must not allow yourself to think, Señor Dene," he said, "that my daughter's very ill-advised remark has any real significance. Of course, in San Martina the population is so mixed that there is a great deal of racial feeling, and this leads at times to much wild talk. But, taken as a whole, I believe that the present Government is popular. We work for the people, and taxation is very light. There has been no such thing as a revolution for years now, nor are there any present signs of one."

Lucia listened with scornful face and Dene with polite attention. And then through the wide balcony hung with light mosquito netting, but otherwise open to the street, there came floating up a low muttering cry—

"Sagasta!"

"What has been done to Sagasta?"

"Give him up to us."

"Sagasta!"

The President controlled his features admirably, but Señora Rimarez turned pale. Eugène muttered something beneath his breath and turned with a look of inquiry to his father. The President nodded, and Eugène left the room.

"This man Sagasta," Dene remarked, proceeding with his dinner, "appears to be popular."

The President poured out and drank a full glass of champagne.

"Amongst the idlers and the scum of the city," he said sternly. "He is what you would call in England an anarchist, or a socialist."

"There is a considerable difference," Dene remarked, smiling. "I am generally supposed to be some sort of a socialist myself, but God preserve us from anarchists!"

Lucia flashed upon him a softer look.

"It is true," she said. "What you have done for your people at Beau Desir proves it. It is what Sagasta would like to do for San Martina."

The President kept his temper admirably. He even smiled indulgently at his daughter.

"The Señor Dene," he said, "has bought and paid for his land like a man of honour and justice. What he does with it is his own concern. Sagasta, from the most charitable point of view, would rob and pillage the rich for the sake of the poor. The inequalities of states which exist are perhaps to be deplored, but while one man has brains and another muscle they are inevitable. We who are called upon to govern cannot fail to realise this."

"Sagasta personally—" Dene began.

"I do not believe in," the President interrupted. "I take the liberty there, you see, of differing even from my daughter." He bowed to her sarcastically. "He is a man of parts and intelligence, but what he desires is power and position for himself. He would rise to these on the shoulders of the people."

"Is he," Dene asked, "a Spaniard?"

The President and his wife exchanged swift glances, and almost simultaneously both frowned at Lucia. But she only smiled.

"Señor Sagasta," she said, "is an English gentleman."

Dene looked up with amazement. The President groaned to himself. Here was another complication. Dene would very likely interfere now and protest against his being shot.

"Why, I was at collie with a Sagasta!" Dene exclaimed. "It would not by any possible chance be the same man."

"It is very likely indeed," Lucia continued, much interested "He was at Magdalen College, Oxford."

Dene set down his glass.

"Arnold Sagasta, as I live!" he declared. "This is a most extraordinary thing. After all, how small the world is. Sagasta was once an acquaintance of mine. How long has he been out here?"

The President waved his hand, and the servants fell back out of hearing.

"Sagasta," he said, "has been here in San Martina for ten years. For the first part of the time he was a very valuable inhabitant, who took his place in our counsels, was highly respected, and was looked upon as one of our most prominent citizens. He was a guest in my house continually, and but for his own folly he might to-day have occupied the post of my secretary and chief adviser."

Lucia shrugged her white shoulders and opened her lips as though to speak. A glance from her father, however, kept her silent. There were times when the President was a dangerous man.

"Five years ago," the President continued calmly, "he became associated with a party of the State who have ruined him as they have ruined many a better man. Since then his downfall has been slow but sure. His business has declined; he spent all his time discussing anarchy and rebellion with all the riff-raff of the place, who are too lazy to work and too mischievous to permit others to do so. Two months ago I found him implicated in a proposed rebellion against me, and I was compelled to have him arrested and thrust into prison. He is there now, and his fate is undecided."

"I am sorry to hear this," Dene said gravely. "I should like very much to see him, if you could arrange it."

"We will talk further of it over a cigar," the President said. "Meanwhile—"

He raised his hand and the service of dinner was continued. In a few minutes the Señora arose, and Lucia followed her. Dene, as he stood behind his chair, felt the girl's dark eyes challenge his, and looked steadily into them. It was only a momentary glance, but it thrilled him. There was something which she had to say to him. He resumed his seat most unwillingly.