"Not altogether, your Excellency. There's something besides, for which
he deserves to be treated differently from the others."
Santa Anna could have given a close guess at what the exceptional
something was. To his subtle perception a little love drama was
gradually being disclosed; but he kept his thoughts to himself, with his
eyes still searchingly fixed on Santander's face.
"This Kearney," continued the latter, "though an Irishman, is one of
Mexico's bitterest enemies, and especially bitter against your
Excellency. In a speech he made to the _filibusteros_, he called you a
usurper, tyrant, traitor to liberty and your country--ay, even coward.
Pardon me for repeating the vile epithets he made use of."
Santa Anna's eyes now scintillated with a lurid sinister light, as if
filled with fire, ready to blaze out. In the American newspapers he had
often seen his name coupled with such opprobrious phrases, but never
without feeling savagely wrathful. And not the less that his own innate
consciousness told him it was all as said.
"_Chingara_!" he hissed out, for he was not above using this vulgar
exclamation. "If it is true what you say, Don Carlos, as I presume it
is, you can do as you like with this dog of an _Irlandes_! have him
shot, or have him despatched by _La Garrota_, whichever seems best to
you. But no--stay! That won't do yet. There's a question about these
Tejanos with the United States Minister; and as this Kearney is an
Irishman, and so a British subject, the representative of that country
may make trouble too. So till all this is settled, the _Irlandes_
mustn't be either shot or garrotted. Instead, let him be treated
tenderly. You comprehend?"
The staff-colonel did comprehend; the emphasis on the "tenderly" made it
impossible for him to mistake the Dictator's meaning, which was just as
he desired it. As he passed out of the presence, and from the room, his
countenance was lit up, or rather darkened, by an expression of fiendish
triumph. He now had it in his power to humiliate them who had so
humbled him.
"Quite a little comedy!" soliloquised Santa Anna, as the door closed on
his subordinate, "in which, before it's played out, I may myself take a
part. She's a charming creature, this Senorita Valverde. But, ah!
nothing to the Condesa. That woman--witch, devil, or whatever I may
call her--bids fair to do what woman never did--make a fool of Lopez de
Santa Anna."