“What would you expect a true Costaguanero to do? Another revolution, of course. On my word of honour, Mrs. Gould, I believe I am a true _hijo del pays_, a true son of the country, whatever Father Corbelan may say. And I’m not so much of an unbeliever as not to have faith in my own ideas, in my own remedies, in my own desires.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Gould, doubtfully. “You don’t seem convinced,” Decoud went on again in French. “Say, then, in my passions.” Mrs. Gould received this addition unflinchingly. To understand it thoroughly she did not require to hear his muttered assurance-- “There is nothing I would not do for the sake of Antonia. There is nothing I am not prepared to undertake. There is no risk I am not ready to run.” Decoud seemed to find a fresh audacity in this voicing of his thoughts. “You would not believe me if I were to say that it is the love of the country which--” She made a sort of discouraged protest with her arm, as if to express that she had given up expecting that motive from any one. “A Sulaco revolution,” Decoud pursued in a forcible undertone. “The Great Cause may be served here, on the very spot of its inception, in the place of its birth, Mrs. Gould.” Frowning, and biting her lower lip thoughtfully, she made a step away from the door. “You are not going to speak to your husband?” Decoud arrested her anxiously. “But you will need his help?” “No doubt,” Decoud admitted without hesitation. “Everything turns upon the San Tome mine, but I would rather he didn’t know anything as yet of my--my hopes.” A puzzled look came upon Mrs. Gould’s face, and Decoud, approaching, explained confidentially-- “Don’t you see, he’s such an idealist.” Mrs. Gould flushed pink, and her eyes grew darker at the same time. “Charley an idealist!” she said, as if to herself, wonderingly. “What on earth do you mean?” “Yes,” conceded Decoud, “it’s a wonderful thing to say with the sight of the San Tome mine, the greatest fact in the whole of South America, perhaps, before our very eyes. But look even at that, he has idealized this fact to a point--” He paused. “Mrs. Gould, are you aware to what point he has idealized the existence, the worth, the meaning of the San Tome mine? Are you aware of it?” He must have known what he was talking about. The effect he expected was produced. Mrs. Gould, ready to take fire, gave it up suddenly with a low little sound that resembled a moan. “What do you know?” she asked in a feeble voice. “Nothing,” answered Decoud, firmly. “But, then, don’t you see, he’s an Englishman?” “Well, what of that?” asked Mrs. Gould.