"
"Do you suppose this boy got these?" Miss Brewster indicated the
shy and dusky messenger.
Raimonda spoke to the boy for a moment.
"No; he didn't collect them. Nor is he one of the President's men.
I don't quite understand it."
"Who did gather them?"
"All that he will say is, 'the master.'"
"Oh!" said Miss Brewster, and retired into a thoughtful silence.
"They're very beautiful, aren't they?" continued the Caracunan.
"And they carry a pretty sentiment."
"Tell me," commanded the girl, emerging from her reverie.
"The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which
carries the thought back to the giver."
"Is that the language of science?" she queried absently, with a
thought far away.
"But no, senorita, assuredly not," said the young Caracufian. "It
is the language--permit that I say it better in French--c'est le
langage d'amour."
III
THE BETTER PART OF VALOR
Night fell with the iron clangor of bells, and day broke to the
accompaniment of further insensate jangling, for Caracuna City has
the noisiest cathedral in the world; and still the graceful gray
yacht Polly lay in the harbor at Puerto del Norte, hemmed in by a
thin film of smoke along the horizon where the Dutch warship
promenaded.
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