Up to that time they had known their chief, brave--even rash--hard towards others as towards himself--of extreme severity in matters of discipline, but just, humane, and never in cold blood commanding the death of the unhappy prisoners whom the chances of war placed in his power. Thus, this sudden change in the humour of their chief, this cruelty which he had exhibited, astonished them, and filled them, unknown to themselves, with secret terror. They instinctively understood that this man, ordinarily so cold and impassive, must have very powerful motives to act as he did, and thus to give a complete denial to the mildness of character which, up to that time, he had always manifested; so, though this cruelty appeared revolting, no one dared to blame him, and those of his officers who felt disposed to accuse him could not decide to do so. Meanwhile, don Zeno Cabral, without appearing to remark the emotion produced by this scene, strode about the place where he was, his arms behind his back, and his head leaning on his breast, seemingly a prey to great agitation. The officers stood apart, watching him by stealth, waiting with visible anxiety the determination which doubtless he would not be long in taking--a determination on which depended the life or death of the unhappy prisoners. Captain Quiroga at last approached him, and respectfully barred his passage at the moment when, after having terminated his promenade in one direction, he was turning to continue it in the other. Don Zeno raised his head. "What do you want?" said he. "The order, General." "What order?" "The confirmation of that you have given me." "I!" said he, with astonishment. "Yes, General; I wish to know if it is necessary to shoot immediately the twelve Brazilian prisoners there." The general started as if a serpent had stung him; he stealthily darted a look towards the beautiful young girl. She was weeping, her face hidden in her mother's bosom. "What are these men?" said he. "Nothing much--poor devils of servants, I believe." "Ah! Not soldiers?" "Not one." "However, they defended themselves." "Well, General, that is their right." The general fixed his piercing eye upon the impassive face of the old soldier. "Ah!" said he; "How many of your men have they killed?" "Two, and wounded five, but honourably." "I find you very tenderhearted today, Captain Quiroga," said he, in a tone of sarcasm. "I am just, as usual, General," he answered. The general turned pale at this hard remark, but immediately recovering himself-- "Thank you, my old friend," pursued he, holding out his hand; "thank you, for having reminded me what I owe to myself. Let them sound the signal to saddle; we leave for San Miguel, gentlemen. Captain, I leave the prisoners under your special care; let them be treated with kindness." "Good Zeno, I am grateful to you," answered the old soldier, with a low but firm voice, taking the hand that his chief held out, and kissing it; "good, my friend."