"Drive carefully," cried Mrs. Gould in a tremulous voice.
"Si, carefully; si nina," he mumbled, chewing his lips, his round
leathery cheeks quivering. And the landau rolled slowly out of the
light.
"I will see them as far as the ford," said Charles Gould to his wife.
She stood on the edge of the sidewalk with her hands clasped lightly,
and nodded to him as he followed after the carriage. And now the windows
of the Amarilla Club were dark. The last spark of resistance had died
out. Turning his head at the corner, Charles Gould saw his wife crossing
over to their own gate in the lighted patch of the street. One of
their neighbours, a well-known merchant and landowner of the province,
followed at her elbow, talking with great gestures. As she passed in all
the lights went out in the street, which remained dark and empty from
end to end.
The houses of the vast Plaza were lost in the night. High up, like a
star, there was a small gleam in one of the towers of the cathedral;
and the equestrian statue gleamed pale against the black trees of the
Alameda, like a ghost of royalty haunting the scenes of revolution.
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