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 the people," "Sons of the country," "The entire world" (el mundo entiero)—reached even the packed steps of the cathedral with a feeble, clear ring, thin as the buzzing of a mosquito. But the orator struck his breast; he seemed to prance between his two supporters. It was the supreme effort of his peroration. Then the two smaller figures disappeared from the public and the enormous Gamacho, left alone, advanced, raising his hat high above his head. Then he cove himself proudly and yelled out, "Ciudadanos!" dull roar greeted Señor Gamacho, ex-peddler of the Campo, Commandante of the National Guards.

Up-stairs, Pedrito Montero walked about rapidly from one wrecked room of the Intendencia to another, snarling incessantly:

"What stupidity! What destruction!"

Senor Fuentes, following, would relax his taciturn disposition to murmur:

"It is all the work of Gamacho and his Nationals;", and then, inclining his head on his left shoulder, would press together his lips so firmly that a little hollow would appear at each corner. He had his nomination for Political Chief of the town in his pocket and was all impatience to enter upon his functions.

In the long audience-room, with its tall mirrors all starred by stones, the hangings torn down and the canopy over the platform at the upper end pulled to pieces, the vast, deep muttering of the crowd and the howling voice of Gamacho, speaking just below, reached them through the shutters as they stood idly in dimness and desolation.

"The brute!" observed his Excellency Don Pedro