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Updated: May 25, 2025
The Spaniard idly tossed over the scrap of paper upon which he had stamped a half-dozen of Louis Delgado's crests from the die of the Comptessa Astaride's ring. The Consul took the fragment of paper with the manner of one forced by politeness to assume an interest in trivialities which bore him.
The windows on the small garden still stood open and the moon, riding farther down the west, bathed the outer world in shimmer of silver, but at each door stood a sentinel. Karyl remembered that during Louis Delgado's recent captivity he had fared in precisely the same manner, neither better nor worse.
Delgado's father took up the story as his son left off: "The brave young man who brought us to the place where my son was, now jumped from his horse and gave orders to the men to lift my son on the litter, as we found he was the only man still living. We put a pillow under his head, and the two farm hands lifted the litter and carried it into the cane field.
Evidently the plan had gone awry. Fear always stood near the fore, ready to rush out upon Delgado's timid spirit. "And being dead," resumed the Frenchman, "he is much safer." Louis gave a half-shuddering sigh of relief.
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