"With you on our side we can not
fail."
What did the woman mean? Roland asked himself wildly. Did she labor
under the distressing delusion that he proposed to shed his blood on
behalf of a deposed monarch to whom he had never been introduced?
Maraquita's next remarks made the matter clear.
"I have told them," she said, "that you love me, that you are willing
to risk everything for my sake. I have promised them that you, the rich
Senor Bleke, will supply the funds for the revolution. Once more,
comrades. To the Savior of Paranoya!"
Roland tried his hardest to catch the infection of this patriotic
enthusiasm, but somehow he could not do it. Base, sordid, mercenary
speculations would intrude themselves. About how much was a good,
well-furnished revolution likely to cost? As delicately as he could,
he put the question to Maraquita.
She said, "Poof! The cost? La, la!" Which was all very well, but hardly
satisfactory as a business chat. However, that was all Roland could get
out of her.
* * * * *
The next few days passed for Roland in a sort of dream. It was the kind
of dream which it is not easy to distinguish from a nightmare.
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