“Deeply.”

“Bastante!  There is no more to be said.”  Longorio rose and went into the next room where were certain members of his staff.  After a time he returned with a paper in his hand, and this he laid before Alaire.  It was an order for the release of Juan Garcia.  “The salvo conducto which will permit Juan and his Inez and their Juanito to return to their farm is being made out,” he explained.  “Are you satisfied?”

Alaire looked up wonderingly, “I am deeply grateful.  You overwhelm me.  You are—­a strange man.”

“Dear lady, I live to serve you.  Your wish is my law.  How can I prove it further?” As he stood beside her chair the fervor of his gaze caused her eyes to droop and a faint color to come into her cheeks.  She felt a sudden sense of insecurity, for the man was trembling; the evident desire to touch her, to seize her in his arms, was actually shaking him like an ague.  What next would he do?  Of what wild extravagance was he not capable?  He was a queer mixture of fire and ice, of sensuality and self-restraint.  She knew him to be utterly lawless in most things, and yet toward her he had shown scrupulous restraint.  What possibilities were in a man of his electric temperament, who had the strength to throttle his fiercest longings?

The strained, throbbing silence that followed Longorio’s last words did more to frighten the woman than had his most ardent advances.

After a time he lifted Alaire’s hand; she felt his lips hot and damp upon her flesh; then he turned and went away with the document.

When he reappeared he was smiling.  “These Garcias shall know who interceded for them.  You shall have their thanks,” said he.

“No, no!  It is enough that the man is free.”

“How now?” The general was puzzled.  “What satisfaction can there be in a good deed unless one receives public credit and thanks for it?  I am not like that.”

He would have lingered indefinitely over the table, but Alaire soon rose to go, explaining: 

“I must finish my disagreeable task now, so that I can go home to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!” her host cried in dismay.  “No, no!  You must wait—­”

“My husband is expecting me.”

This statement was a blow; it seemed to crush Longorio, who could only look his keen distress.

As they stepped out into the street Alaire was afforded that treat which Longorio had so thoughtfully arranged for her.  There in the gutter stood Inez Garcia with her baby in her arms, and beside her the ragged figure of a young man, evidently her Juan.  The fellow was emaciated, his face was gaunt and worn and frightened, his feet were bare even of sandals, the huge peaked straw hat which he clutched over his breast was tattered, and yet in his eye there was a light.