The one who had brought him to this place was standing rigidly erect with one hand to his visor, speaking to a military man standing a few paces in front of the others.

He looked at this man, who was scrutinizing him with his little hard blue eyes that had carved his spare, furrowed countenance with lines.

He must be the general.

His arrogant and piercing gaze was sweeping him from head to foot.

Don Marcelo felt a presentiment that his life was hanging on this examination; should an evil suggestion, a cruel caprice flash across this brain, he was surely lost.