Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
exposed in Paris, some years ago, in a café frequented by South American students, where he tried to himself off for a Secretary of Legation. He used to come in and talk for hours, twisting his felt hat in his hairy paws, and his ambition seemed to become a sort of Due de Morny to a sort of Napoleon. Already, then, he used to talk of his brother in inflated terms. He seemed fairly safe from being found out, bet the students, all of the Blanco families, did not, as you may imagine, frequent the Legation. It was only Decoud, a man without faith and principles, as they used to say, that went in there sometimes for the sake of the fun, as it were to an assembly of trained monkeys. I know his intentions. I have seen him change the plates at table. Whoever is allowed to live on in terror, I must die the death.
"No, I didn't stay to the end to hear Don Juste Lopez trying to persuade himself in a grave oration of the clemency, and justice, and honesty, and purity of the brothers Montero. I went out abruptly to Antonia. I saw her in the gallery.. As I opened the door, she extended to me her clasped hands.
'"What are they doing in there?' she asked.
" Talking,' I said, with my eyes looking into hers.
'"Yes, yes, but—'
"'Empty speeches,' I interrupted her. 'Hiding their fears behind imbecile hopes. They are all great parliamentarians there—on the English model, as you know.' I was so furious that I could hardly speak. She made a gesture of despair.
"Through the door I held a little ajar behind me we heard Don Juste's measured mouthing monotone
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