After picking their way for an hour among narrow lanes, they came out into a suburb where the houses began to alternate with garden walls, over which hung orange-trees diffusing their heavy perfume through the quiet night.  They had to cross an open place to the other suburb, Mata Poreas, and upon the rising ground to one side of them they saw a building that looked like a fortress enclosed by a stone wall, which caused Salve’s comrade considerable perturbation.  It was the house of correction, before which there was always a sentry on duty.

They passed it, however, unchallenged, and after half-an-hour’s further walking, the Brazilian halted at last before a garden wall, in which there was a small wicket gate.  He looked cautiously round him and said excitedly—­

“We must climb over here, and then—­we are safe.”

He climbed up on Salve’s back, and so on to the top of the wall; drew Salve up beside him, and then sprang down into the little garden and began to roll about on the grass as if he had taken leave of his senses, crying, “Salvado!  Salvado!”

He rushed up then to the little villa that lay half overshadowed by trees, and knocking in a particular manner at the door, called out “Paolina!  Paolina!”

A female in night-dress, with a young, but rather deep voice, opened the shutter from within, and put out her head.

“Federigo!”—­she said, tremblingly; and there followed then a rapid interchange of questions and answers in Spanish which Salve did not understand.  He gathered merely that she was surprised to see a stranger with him, and that he calmed her apprehensions with the word “amigo,” followed by a short explanation.

She opened the door, and fell impulsively on Federigo’s neck, kissing him on both cheeks, and sobbing.  After the custom of the place, then, she offered her cheek to Salve, and was a little surprised when he seemed not to understand her meaning, and nodded merely, as he said, half in English, half in Spanish, “good evening, senorita.”  It seemed to remind her, however, that in her eagerness she had forgotten her mantilla, and she left them hastily.

She came back to them again in the sitting-room almost immediately with bread, wine, fruit, and lights upon a tray; and stationed herself then in a sympathetic attitude with her arm on her brother’s shoulder, while he, with lively gestures, recounted his adventures.  Federigo’s story seemed to be reflected from her face as from a living mirror.  At one point her face became pale with passion; her black eyes flashed, and she made a sudden movement with her clenched hand in the air, as if she were giving some one a stab with a dagger.  She threw her head back then with a triumphant, scornful laugh that showed her dazzling white teeth; and Salve inferred that her brother must have killed some person or other in Monte Video, probably in self-preservation, and that he was afraid the police here, in Rio, should have had information of it.