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Updated: May 24, 2025
The army was disaffected, the people anxious for a return to the old order of things. A more propitious moment for striking the decisive blow was never likely to arrive. The question was purely one of funds. At the mention of the word "funds," Roland, who had become thoroughly bored with the lecture on Paranoyan history, sat up and took notice.
Roland had got so into the habit of taking it for granted that every Paranoyan he met must of necessity be a devotee of the beloved Alejandro that it came as a shock to him to realize that there were those who objected to his restoration to the throne. Till now he had looked on the enemy as something in the abstract.
And the pioneer of the dance, the peerless Maraquita, a native Paranoyan, still performed it nightly at the music-hall where she had first broken loose. The caoutchouc fascinated Roland Bleke. Maraquita fascinated him more. Of all the women to whom he had lost his heart at first sight, Maraquita had made the firmest impression upon him. She was what is sometimes called a fine woman.
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.
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