“Vallejo,” he said, “is like a horse that will neither run nor back into his stall:  he merely stands still and kicks.  His kicking makes a noise and raises a dust, but does no harm.  In other words, he will irritate, but never take a responsibility.  Send him an official notice that if he does not keep quiet an armed force will march upon Sonoma and imprison him in his own house, humiliating him before the eyes of his soldiers and retainers.

“As for Pio Pico, threaten to fine and punish him.  He will apologize at once and be quiet for six months, when you can call another secret session and issue another threat.  It would prolong the term of his submission to order him to appear before the Junta and make it an apology with due humility.

“Now for Carillo and Reinaldo Iturbi y Moncada.”  He paused a moment and glanced at Chonita’s grating.  He had the proofs of her brother’s rascality in his pocket; no one but himself had seen them.  He hesitated the fraction of another moment, then smiled grimly.  “Oh, Helen!” he thought, “the same old story.”

“That Carillo is guilty,” he said aloud, “is proven to us beyond doubt.  He has incited rebellion against the government in behalf of Carlos Carillo.  He is dangerous to the peace of the country.  Iturbi y Moncada is young and heedless, hardly to be considered seriously; furthermore, it is impossible to obtain proof of his complicity.  His intimacy with Carillo gives him the appearance of guilt.  It would be well to frighten him a little by a short term of imprisonment.  He is restless and easily led; a lesson in time may save his honored house from disaster.  But to Carillo no quarter.”  He rose and stood over them.  “The best thing in Machiavelli’s ‘Prince,’” he said, “is the author’s advice to Caesar Borgia to exterminate every member of the reigning house of a conquered country, in order to avoid future revolutions and their infinitely greater number of dead.  Do not let the water in your blood whimper for mercy.  You are not here to protect an individual, but a country.”

“You are right,” said Alvarado.

The others looked at the young man who had merely given them the practical advice of statecraft as if he had opened his chest and displayed the lamp of wisdom burning.  His freedom from excitement in all ordeals which animated them to madness had long ago inspired the suspicion that he was rather more than human.  They uttered not a protest.  Alvarado’s one-eyed secretary made notes of their approval; and the Junta, after another friendly smoke, adjourned, well pleased with itself.

“Would I sacrifice my country for her a year hence?” thought Estenega, as he sauntered home.  “But, after all, little harm is done.  He is not worth killing, and fright and discomfort will probably cure him.”

IX.

Chonita and Estenega faced each other among the Castilian roses of the garden behind the Governor’s house.  The duena was nodding in a corner; the first-born of the Alvarados, screaming within, absorbed the attention of every member of the household, from the frantic young mother to the practical nurse.