The velvety, caressing
glance of his fine eyes seemed dead, and even decomposed; for these
almond-shaped, languishing orbs had become inappropriately bloodshot
with much sinister sleeplessness. He addressed the surprised envoy
of Senor Fuentes in a deadened, exhausted voice. It came pathetically
feeble from under a pile of ponchos, which buried his elegant person
right up to the black moustaches, uncurled, pendant, in sign of bodily
prostration and mental incapacity. Fever, fever--a heavy fever
had overtaken the "muy valliente" colonel. A wavering wildness of
expression, caused by the passing spasms of a slight colic which had
declared itself suddenly, and the rattling teeth of repressed panic, had
a genuineness which impressed the envoy. It was a cold fit. The colonel
explained that he was unable to think, to listen, to speak. With an
appearance of superhuman effort the colonel gasped out that he was
not in a state to return a suitable reply or to execute any of his
Excellency's orders. But to-morrow! To-morrow! Ah! to-morrow! Let his
Excellency Don Pedro be without uneasiness.
Pages:
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670