“Haven’t you any laws in Mexico?” Lucia inquired.

“We ’ave—­ze best,” Lopez was swift to reply.

“But you just said—­” Angela started to remind him, and took a little stool and moved close to him, seating herself upon it.  She did not want him to forget her girlish sweetness.  Lopez paid no heed to her.

“They are ze best because each man makes them for ’imself.  Not like New York, where everybody tell you what you cannot do until zere is nozzing left what you want to do.”

Angela piped up:  “You’ve been to New York?”

“When I was agent for Madero—­yes.  I live at ze big hotel.  I ’ave planty money.  Ees no damn prohibition.  I get dronk.  I ’ave ’ell of a time.  Sure!  I see ’im all!  New York!” he smiled in recollection.

“And you didn’t like it?” Angela persisted, moving her little stool even closer to him.

“Like it?  It makes me seeck!  Even beautiful woman what I see ’ave ’osband what is afraid for ’er.  Each time I get dronk comes big policeman which ’it me on ze ’ead.”  He smiled at the thought, “When I go to ze teatro, ees someone which ’ide under—­ze bed.  Not even can I step on ze grass because—­New York!  It crush ze ’eart!” He put both hands over his chest, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Yes!” exclaimed Angela, her stool very close to him now.

“Ees a prison for ze soul!” Lopez affirmed.  “A stupid, seely place, your New York!”

“Yes!” Angela agreed again.

“For me New York can go to ’ell just as soon as she damn please!” the bandit let out.

“Oh, Mr. Robber!” Angela cried.

“But Mexico!  How different!” Lopez said, paying no more attention to Angela than he would to a fly.

“I’m sure it is!” the girl said.

To Lucia, Lopez went on:  “You shall see!  Ze beautiful woman ’ave ’osband.  But shall I not ’ave beautiful woman?”

“Oh, Mr. Bandit!” Angela put in once more.

“When we get dronk, ees not policeman which will ’it us on ze ’ead, but us which will ’it policeman on ze ’ead.”  Angela chuckled at this.  “In ze teatro shall not be someone which ’ide under ze bed, but in it!  You shall see!  In Mexico ze heart leap!  Ze soul she is free!  You can do what you want—­zat is, onless someone shoot you.  Leesten, senora.”  He leaned close to Lucia, who had not ventured to move, “Did you ever know the joy of fierce leeving?  Did you?”

But she did not reply.  Instead, it was the impetuous Angela who answered him: 

“Yes.  I mean, no!”

Lopez turned and scowled at her.  “I was not spik to you,” he said.

“You weren’t!” Angela looked her surprise.

“Ciertamente no!” the bandit said.

Angela was hurt.  “But you’re not cross with me, are you?” she almost wept.

“No!  I am not cross wiz you!  Eez zat you annoy me!” And as though she were a doll, he pushed her from him, his big hand almost blotting out her pretty little face.  The stool and Angela fell to the floor.  She was furious.  The devil in her was roused.  Chagrined, she picked herself up.  Her dainty plaid frock was covered with dust.  She brushed it off as best she could, and cried: