her face to the clusters of flowers here and there as if to give time
to her thoughts to catch up with her slow footsteps along the straight
vista of the corredor.

A fringed Indian hammock from Aroa, gay with coloured featherwork, had
been swung judiciously in a corner that caught the early sun; for the
mornings are cool in Sulaco. The cluster of _flor de noche buena_ blazed
in great masses before the open glass doors of the reception rooms. A
big green parrot, brilliant like an emerald in a cage that flashed like
gold, screamed out ferociously, "_Viva Costaguana!_" then called twice
mellifluously, "Leonarda! Leonarda!" in imitation of Mrs. Gould's voice,
and suddenly took refuge in immobility and silence. Mrs. Gould reached
the end of the gallery and put her head through the door of her
husband's room.

Charles Gould, with one foot on a low wooden stool, was already
strapping his spurs. He wanted to hurry back to the mine. Mrs. Gould,
without coming in, glanced about the room. One tall, broad bookcase,
with glass doors, was full of books; but in the other, without shelves,
and lined with red baize, were arranged firearms: Winchester carbines,
revolvers, a couple of shot-guns, and even two pairs of double-barrelled
holster pistols. Between them, by itself, upon a strip of scarlet
velvet, hung an old cavalry sabre, once the property of Don Enrique
Gould, the hero of the Occidental Province, presented by Don Jose
Avellanos, the hereditary friend of the family.

Otherwise, the plastered white walls were completely bare, except for
a water-colour sketch of the San Tome mountain--the work of Dona Emilia
herself. In the middle of the red-tiled floor stood two long tables
littered with plans and papers, a few chairs, and a glass show-case