The Commissary--a stout, healthy-looking man about middle age--sat
smoking a cigarito, dressed in a red waistcoat, a braided jacket, and a
slouching cap with a broad gilt band; from the button-hole of his jacket
was the usual red ribbon with the head of Rosas upon it, and the
favourite motto which he has caused to be inscribed on the national
colours, and over every proclamation, “_Vivan los Federales--mucran los
salvages imundos ascherosas Unitarios._”[9] He was listening attentively
to the information given by a very precise, trim, well-dressed looking
youth, if we might call him so, for his dress betokened youth more than
his face, which at that moment appeared particularly pale. The
conversation, whatever was its nature, appeared to be taken notes of by
a clerk, who was sitting near them, and it dropped the moment they
entered; whether it was that Thorne, who was the first to enter, had
still the sound of Mendoza buzzing in his ears, or that, in the excited
state of his nervous system, he was thinking of the frightful scene
committed at his doors, certain it is, that on his appearance, Don
Felipe Le Brun started and appeared agitated for a moment, and our
friend thought he heard the name of Mendoza.
“Sorry to meet you here,” exclaimed Don Felipe, suddenly recovering from
his start. “Can I be of any service, sir? If so, command me.”
“I am sorry to meet you here, sir,” said Thorne in German, so as not to
be understood by the Commissary, and viewing Le Brun with a keen and
inquisitive look--“I am sorry to find that you have such private
business in these quarters. Pray, señor,” he continued to the
magistrate, who appeared on the point of interrupting him, “do not allow
me or my friend to disturb your correspondence with Don Felipe Le Brun.”
“My business with you, Señor Thorne,” said the magistrate, “is confined
to giving you the advice, which you may find of use, to keep more
orderly hours, and thus you will save the police the trouble of
providing you with night-quarters. I have no complaint against you--you
may go.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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