The pool, as clear as slightly congealed and cooled air, open to the horizon, was roofed, with a railed ledge and steps descending into the water, and Andres Escobar sat with his legs half immersed. He greeted Charles conventionally, concealing the pleasure which shone in his eyes. "I stopped at your dressing-room," Charles Abbott told him; "anything might be taken from the pockets of your coat." The converse of this possibility, that something had been put into a pocket, he conveyed. Andres nodded indifferently. The other slid into the water, sinking and swimming beneath the surface to the farther end. It was delicious. Swimming was his only finished active accomplishment; and, with a half concealed pride, he exhibited it in skilful variations. Even the public bath, he felt, was too contracted for the full expression of his ability. In addition to this, it was necessary to talk confidentially to Andres. And so, with a wave of his arm, he indicated the freedom of the sea beyond. Andres Escobar followed him over the stone barrier, and together they swam steadily out into the blue. Finally, they rested, floating, and Charles diffidently related what was in his heart. His friend, less secure in the water, listened with a gravity occasionally marred by a mouthful of sea. "You are right," he agreed, when Charles had finished. "Although you have put it modestly, I think--many of us admit--that you may be a strong man in Cuba. Indeed, I have heard it said that you should go back to America, and put more intensity into the Junta. Naturally I should regret that, but we must all do what, in the end, is best. Charles, there is a great deal of water under and around us, and I should feel better nearer the Campos Eliseos."