When he swung about, the
skirt of his soutane was inflated slightly by the brusqueness of his
movements.
The great sala had been emptying itself slowly. When the Gefe Politico
rose to go, most of those still remaining stood up suddenly in sign of
respect, and Don Jose Avellanos stopped the rocking of his chair. But
the good-natured First Official made a deprecatory gesture, waved his
hand to Charles Gould, and went out discreetly.
In the comparative peace of the room the screaming "Monsieur
l'Administrateur" of the frail, hairy Frenchman seemed to acquire a
preternatural shrillness. The explorer of the Capitalist syndicate was
still enthusiastic. "Ten million dollars' worth of copper practically in
sight, Monsieur l'Administrateur. Ten millions in sight! And a railway
coming--a railway! They will never believe my report. C'est trop beau."
He fell a prey to a screaming ecstasy, in the midst of sagely nodding
heads, before Charles Gould's imperturbable calm.
And only the priest continued his pacing, flinging round the skirt of
his soutane at each end of his beat.
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