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Updated: July 13, 2025
Lingered here as long as we could, and then off to the "Funcion," where spent a delightful evening. This was a family dancing party, such as the French describe by the words "Soirée dansante." At it met several of the ladies we had seen on Sunday, after poor Maraquita had taken the veil. Were very kindly received, and warmly greeted by the sunny smile and speaking eyes of Señora Margarita.
True, the beloved Alejandro might be restored; but he would sit upon a throne that was insecure, unless the coronation festivities took a bloodthirsty turn. By all means, said Maraquita, corrupt the army, but not at the risk of making the affair tame and unpopular. Paranoya was an emotional country, and liked its revolutions with a bit of zip to them.
It was not that she was any less beautiful at the very close quarters imposed by the limits of the dressing-room; but he felt that in falling in love with her he had undertaken a contract a little too large for one of his quiet, diffident nature. It crossed his mind that the sort of woman he really liked was the rather small, drooping type. Dynamite would not have made Maraquita droop.
We fell into a merry mood, in Booth, jingling the glasses in many toasts, for he had a list of healths to make me gasp, near as long as the brigantine's articles, Inez in Havana and Maraquita in Cartagena, and Clotilde, the Creole, of Martinico, each had her separate charm.
The exception Maraquita addressed as Bombito. He was a conspicuous figure. He was one of those out-size, hasty-looking men. One suspected him of carrying lethal weapons. Maraquita presented Roland to the company. The native speech of Paranoya sounded like shorthand, with a blend of Spanish. An expert could evidently squeeze a good deal of it into a minute. Its effect on the company was good.
She now talked nothing but figures, and from the confused mass which she presented to him Roland was able to gather that, in financing the restoration of royalty in Paranoya, he would indeed be risking everything for her sake. In the matter of revolutions Maraquita was no niggard. She knew how the thing should be done well, or not at all.
He was not fond of Maraquita, but he had a tender heart, and this, he felt, would kill the poor girl. "But Maraquita ?" "That's all right, splendid old chap. No need to worry about Maraquita, stout old boy. Where the husband goes, so does the wife go. As you say, whither thou goes will I follow. No?" "But I don't understand. Maraquita is not your wife?" "Why, certainly, good old heart. What else?"
You look at the policeman upon the corner of the road, and you say to yourself 'I am safe. Believe me, not at all so is it, but much the opposite. We have ways by which it is of no account the policeman on the corner of the road. That is all, Senor Bleke. We wish you a good night." The deputation withdrew. Maraquita, informed of the incident, snapped her fingers, and said "Poof!"
He had an instinctive feeling that he was about to be called upon for a subscription to the cause of the distressful country's freedom. Especially by Bombito. He was right. A moment later Maraquita began to make a speech. She spoke in Paranoyan, and Roland could not follow her, but he gathered that it somehow had reference to himself.
"Let us say Maraquita," answered Caranby, smiling, "we may as well be grammatical. But this perfume betrays you. Jennings knows that your friends use it as a sign." "Quite so," she answered, "it was clever of Jennings to have guessed its meaning. I invented the idea. But he is ill, and I don't think he has told anyone else about it. He is fond of keeping his discoveries to himself.
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