The sound of
bells maddened him.
Imagining at first that he might be attacked at once, he had made his
battalion stand to arms on the shore. He walked to and fro all the
length of the room, stopping sometimes to gnaw the finger-tips of his
right hand with a lurid sideways glare fixed on the floor; then, with
a sullen, repelling glance all round, he would resume his tramping in
savage aloofness. His hat, horsewhip, sword, and revolver were lying on
the table. His officers, crowding the window giving the view of the town
gate, disputed amongst themselves the use of his field-glass bought last
year on long credit from Anzani. It passed from hand to hand, and the
possessor for the time being was besieged by anxious inquiries.
"There is nothing; there is nothing to see!" he would repeat
impatiently.
There was nothing. And when the picket in the bushes near the Casa
Viola had been ordered to fall back upon the main body, no stir of life
appeared on the stretch of dusty and arid land between the town and the
waters of the port. But late in the afternoon a horseman issuing from
the gate was made out riding up fearlessly.
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