The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 3 — page 74: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

458 THE ARGOSY. the idlers from the fierce light. Breezes blowing down from the icy peaks above tempered the air so that it was a joy to live. I seemed to have been carried upon the wings of magic out of the world of reality to a dreamland surpassing all the fairy pictures of my childhood. The promises of Isabella de Gavarnie came leaping to my mind—the promise of fortune beyond my hopes; of a life like no other in the world. In such an eldorado of the mountains, I said, it would be happiness to live and die. My guide, I say, led me to this place unchallenged by any sentry ; un- announced by any sign or word. Even more astonishing was the indifference displayed by those we now came among to our approach, or to the fact that a stranger stood at their gates. Nota man, I believe, so much as turned his head as we advanced. ‘The loiterers at the table, busy with their cigarettes and wine flasks, scarce gave mea look. In our turn we passed them in- differently, going straight to the tent I have spoken of—to an arbor of leaves and flowers built against the trunk of a mighty tree, yet guarded by no other sentinel than a huge boarhound. ‘‘Senor,’’ cried my guide, while the hound began to cool his nose against the leather of my boots, ‘‘if you will wait here a moment, the prince will see you.’’ He disappeared into the arbor, and I heard his voice there. Before ten seconds had passed, he came to the door again and beckoned me to follow hin. And so he brought me face to face with Lorenzo de la Cruz, that soldier of fortune at whose name, as Isabella de Gavarnie promised me, all Europe ‘ was soon to tremble. eS CHAPTER X.—LORENZO DE LA CRUZ. My guide apart, there were two in the arbor when I entered. Of these, one was a mere lad, a hunchback with a fair, boyish face, who sat at a plain deal writing table tracing lines upon a mapof France. The other was a man remarkable enough to have attracted attention in any company. Let me speak first of Lorenzo the Magnificent, as then I saw him in the heart of the forest of Torla. A man of the middle height clothed in a negligé suit of white canvas, he had the face of the classic Greek, long and thin, and seen to the best advantage in profile. Black hair, coarse and glossy, curled upon his high and striking forehead ; his eyes protruded as the eyes of a victim to insomnia. I said that I had rarely seen such shoul- ders or such arms ; the breadth of the man, the development of limb and body, would have won the admiration of an athlete. Moreover, his hands were - small as those of a woman ; his feet scarce showed beneath his ample trousers. Such a combination. of strength and weakness in face and body I had never known. And beyond this, his jaw was underhung, so that when he closed his lips he had the face of the sensualist and the mouth of the criminal. Not until he spoke could you forget these physical contrasts. But directly he opened his lips, one impression alone was possible—the impression of personal power, of determination, of tremendous will. I could imagine men trembling Eomicbooks (EC)