The Fate of a Crown

A moment later we were disarmed, and then, to our surprise, de Souza ordered our feet and our hands to be securely bound. Only Lesba escaped this indignity, for the captain confined her in a small room adjoining our own and placed a guard at the door.

During this time Valcour stood by, sullen and scowling, his hands clinched nervously and his lips curling with scorn.

“You might gag us, my cautious one,” said Paola, addressing the officer, who had planted himself, stern and silent, in the center of the room while his orders were being executed.

“So I will, Senhor Paola; but in another fashion,” was the grim reply.

He drew a paper from his breast and continued, “I will read to you my orders from his Majesty, the Emperor Dom Pedro of Brazil, dispatched from the station at Cuyaba as he was departing for his capital to quell the insurrection.”

He paused and slowly unfolded the paper, while every eye – save that, perhaps, of Mazanovitch – was fixed upon him with intent gaze.

“‘You are instructed to promptly arrest the traitor Francisco Paola, together with his sister, Lesba Paola, and whatever revolutionists you may be able to take, and to execute them one and all without formal trial on the same day that they are captured, as enemies of the Empire and treasonable conspirators plotting the downfall of the Government.’”

The captain paused a moment, impressively, and refolded the document.

“It is signed by his Majesty’s own hand, and sealed with the royal seal,” he said.

CHAPTER XXII

THE DEATH SENTENCE

I glanced around the room to note the effect of this startling announcement upon my fellow-prisoners. Bastro’s scowling face was turned full upon the officer, but showed no sign of fear. De Pintra smiled rather scornfully and whispered a word to Mazanovitch, whose countenance remained impassive as ever. Paola, with the perpetual simper distorting his naturally handsome features, leaned back in his chair and regarded his trussed ankles with whimsical indifference. Indeed, if the captain thought to startle or terrify his captives he must have been grievously disappointed, for one and all received the announcement of the death sentence with admirable composure.

It was Valcour who broke the silence. Confronting the captain with blazing eyes, while his slight form quivered with excitement, he cried:

“This is nonsense, de Souza! The Emperor must have been mad to write such an order. You will convey your prisoners to Rio for trial.”

“I shall obey the Emperor’s commands,” answered the captain, gloomily.

“But it is murder!”

“It is the Emperor’s will.”

“Hear me, Captain de Souza,” said Valcour, drawing himself up proudly; “you were instructed to obey my commands. I order you to convey the prisoners to Rio, that they may be tried in a court of justice.”

The other shook his head.

“The order is to me personally, and I must obey. A soldier never questions the commands of his superiors.”

“But I am your superior!”

“Not in this affair, Senhor Valcour. And the Emperor’s order is doubtless to be obeyed above that of his spy.”

Valcour winced, and turned away to pace the floor nervously.

“But the lady – surely you will not execute the Donzella Paola in this brutal fashion!” he protested, after an interval of silence.

The captain flushed, and then grew pale.

“I will speak with the lady,” he said, and motioning aside the guard he entered the room where Lesba was confined, and closed the door after him.

We could hear his voice through the thin partition, speaking in low and earnest tones. Then a burst of merry laughter from Lesba fell upon our ears with something of a shock, for the matter seemed serious enough to insure gravity. Evidently the captain protested, but the girl’s high-pitched tones and peals of merriment indicated that she was amusing herself at his expense, and suddenly the door burst open and de Souza stumbled out with a red and angry face.

“The woman is a fiend!” he snarled. “Let her die with the others.”

Valcour, who had continued to pace the floor during this interview, had by now managed to get his nerves under control, for he smiled at the captain, and said:

“Let us see if I have any argument that will avail.”

While the officer stood irresolute, Valcour bowed mockingly, opened the door, and passed into Lesba’s room.

It was de Souza’s turn now to pace the floor, which he did with slow and measured strides; but although we strained our ears, not a sound of the interview that was progressing reached us through the partition.

After a considerable time it seemed that the captain regretted having allowed Valcour this privilege, for he advanced to the door and placed his hand on the knob. Instantly the spy appeared, closing the door swiftly behind him and turning the key in the lock.

“I withdraw my opposition, Captain,” said he. “You may execute the lady with the others, for all I care. When is the massacre to take place?”

The officer stroked his moustache and frowned.

“The order commands the execution on the same day the conspirators are arrested,” he announced. “I do not like the job, Valcour, believe me; but the Emperor must be obeyed. Let them die at sunset.”

He turned abruptly and left the house, but sent a detachment of the Uruguayans to remain in the room with us and guard against any attempt on our part to escape.

We indulged in little conversation. Each had sufficient to occupy his thoughts, and sunset was not very far away, after all. To me this ending of the bold conspiracy was not surprising, for I had often thought that when Dom Pedro chose to strike he would strike in a way that would deter all plotting against the government for some time to come. And life is of little value in these South American countries.

“Where are the records?” I whispered to Dom Miguel, who sat near me.

“Safe with Fonseca in Rio,” he answered.

“Do you imagine that Fonseca will succeed?” I continued.

“He is sure to,” said the chief, a soft gleam lighting his eyes. “It is only we who have failed, my friend.” He paused a moment, and then resumed: “I am sorry I have brought you to this, Robert. For the rest of us it matters little that we die. Is not a free Brazil a glorious prize to be won by the purchase of a few lives?”

It was futile to answer. A free Brazil meant little to me, I reflected; but to die with Lesba was a bit comforting, after all. I must steel myself to meet death as bravely as this girl was sure to do.

Paola, after sitting long silent, addressed Valcour, who, since the captain’s exit, had been staring from the window that faced the forest.

“What did de Souza say to Lesba?” he asked.

The spy turned around with a countenance more composed and cheerful than he had before shown, and answered:

“He offered to save her from death if she would marry him.”

“Ah; and she laughed at the dear captain, as we all heard. But you, senhor, made an effort to induce her to change her mind – did you not?”

“I?” returned Valcour. “By no means, senhor. It is better she should die than marry this brutal Captain de Souza.”

This speech seemed to confirm my suspicion that Valcour himself loved Lesba. But Paola cast one of his quick, searching glances into the spy’s face and seemed pleased by what he discovered there.