VI
"I knew those people by sight," General Santierra would tell his guests
at the dining-table. "I mean the people with whom Gaspar Ruiz found
shelter. The father was an old Spaniard, a man of property ruined by the
revolution. His estates, his house in town, his money, everything he had
in the world had been confiscated by proclamation, for he was a bitter
foe of our independence. From a position of great dignity and influence
on the Viceroy's Council he became of less importance than his own negro
slaves made free by our glorious revolution. He had not even the means
to flee the country, as other Spaniards had managed to do. It may be
that, wandering ruined and houseless, and burdened with nothing but
his life, which was left to him by the clemency of the Provisional
Government, he had simply walked under that broken roof of old tiles. It
was a lonely spot. There did not seem to be even a dog belonging to the
place. But though the roof had holes, as if a cannon-ball or two had
dropped through it, the wooden shutters were thick and tight-closed all
the time.
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