Nostromo: a Tale of the Seaboard

ead, wrapped in a light lace shawl. The clear gleam of her blue eyes gliding behind the black fringe of eyelashes paused for a moment upon her

ne, he had been looking on from a distance; but directly he saw himself no

er in Sta. Marta, which printed them under the heading "From our special correspondent," though the authorship was an open secret. Everybody in Costaguana, where the tale of compatriots in Europe is jealously kept, knew that it was "the son Decoud," a talented young man, supposed to be moving in the higher spheres of Society. As a matter of fact, he was an idle boulevardier, in touch with some smart journalists, made free of a few newspaper offices, and welcomed in the pleasure haunts of pressmen. This life, whose dreary superficiality is covered by the glitter of universal blague, like the stupid clowning of a harlequin by the spangles of a motley costume, induced in him a Frenchified - but most un-French - cosmopolitanism, in reality a mere barren indifferentism posing as intellectual superiority. Of his own country he used to say to his French associates: "Imagine an atmosphere of opera-bo

good intentions, the significance of battles won, who Montero was (un grotesque vaniteux et feroce), and the manner of th

estion a fond. An important Parisian review asked him for an article on the situation. It was

the regeneration of Costagua

ushed the habit of universal raillery to a point where it blinded him to the genuine impulses of his own nature. To be suddenly selected for the executive member of t

est funambulesque!" he had exclaimed to his favourite sister; for the Decoud family - except the old father and mother - used th

Costaguanero" on public grounds, and privately opened his heart to his talented god-son, a man of w

ister, "that I am not likely to misappropriate the f

Government, but difficult to get rid of at once. He was not to know anything of it till the troops under Barrios's comm

confidante; to which the brother, with an

elp of private citizens, in digging a mine under his own indispensable

out his mission, which circumstances made delicate, and his want of special knowledge render

f gaspipe weapons. They are charming; they invite me to expensive luncheons; I keep up their hopes; it'

he whole burlesque business, he thought, was worth following up to the end. He mumbled his excuses, tugging at his golden beard, be

ou want to s

d and disdainful tone. He shrugged his shoulders, and spun r

ow when she wore her hair i

ns. He was twenty then, an only son, spoiled by his adoring family. This attack disconcerted him so greatly that he had faltered in his affectation of amused superiority before that insignificant chit of a school-girl. But the impression left was so strong that ever since all the girl friends of his sisters recalled to him Antonia Avellanos by some faint resemblance, or by the great

ine and the West Coast Service of the O.S.N. Company. His precious consignment arrived just in time to convert the first feelings of consternation into a mood

s have been realized," he moaned, affectionately. And again he hugged his god-son. This wa

t how impossible it would be to tell these two people that he had intended to go away by the next month's packet. Don Jose, meantime, continued his praises. Every accession added to public confidence, and, besides, what an example to the young men at home from the brilliant defender of the country's regeneration, the worthy expounder of the party's political faith before the world! Everybody had read the magnificent article in the famous Parisian Review. The world was now informed: and the author's appearance at t

hy need a man be thanked for returning to his native

ss of manner which characterized all her utterances. "But when he

est ghost of a smile, an habitual movement with her, which was very fascinating to men by something subtly devoted, finely self-forgetful in its lively readiness of attention. Because, Decoud continued imperturbably, he felt no longer an idle cumberer of the earth. She was, he assured her, actually beholding at that moment the Journalist of Sulaco. At once Mrs. Gould glanced towards Antonia, posed upright in the corner of a high, straight-backed Spanish sofa, a large black fan waving slowly against

n received from America some time before; the right man alone was wanted. Even Senor Moraga in Sta. Marta had not been able to find one, and the matter was now becoming pressing; some organ was absolutely needed to counteract the effect of the lies disseminated by the Monterist press: the atrocious calu

are, muslins, wooden toys, tiny silver arms, legs, heads, hearts (for ex-voto offerings), rosaries, champagne, women's hats, patent medicines, even a few dusty books in paper covers and mostly in the French language. The big black letters formed the words, "Offices of the Porvenir." From these offices a single folded sheet