Invariably I took refuge in the argument that I was a
foreigner, that I loved my country with an ardour equal to hers, and
that by taking arms in the Banda Oriental I should at once divest
myself of all an Englishman's rights and privileges. She scarcely had
patience to listen to this argument, it seemed so trivial to her, and
when she demanded other better reasons I had none to offer. I dare not
quote to her the words of sulky Achilles:
The distant Trojans never injured me, for that argument would have
sounded even weaker to her than the former one. She had never read
Homer in any language, of course, but she wouldhave quickly made me
tell her about Achilles, and when the end came, with miserable Hector
dragged thrice round the walls of besieged Troy--Montevideo was called
Modern Troy, she knew--then she would have turned my argument against
me and bidden me go and serve the Uruguayan President as Achilles
served Hector. Seeing me silent, she would turn indignantly away only
for a moment, however; the bright smile would quickly return, and she
would exclaim, "No, no, Richard, I shall not forget my promise, though
I sometimes think you try to make me do so."
It was noon: the house was quiet, for Dona Mercedes had retired after
breakfast to take her unfailing siesta, leaving us to our conversation.
In that spacious, cool room where I had first reposed in the house,
I was lying on the sofa smoking a cigarette.
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