It is true that Luis Longorio was utterly alien, and in that sense
almost repellent to Alaire; moreover, she suspected him of being a
monster so depraved that no decent woman could bring herself to
accept his attentions. Nevertheless, in justice to the fellow, she
had to acknowledge that externally, at least, he was immensely
superior to the Mexicans she had met. Then, too, his aristocracy
was unmistakable, and Alaire prided herself that she could
recognize good blood in men as quickly as in horses. The fellow
had been favored by birth, by breeding, and by education; and
although military service in Mexico was little more than a form of
banditry, nevertheless Longorio had developed a certain genius for
leadership, nor was there any doubt as to his spectacular courage.
In some ways he was a second Cid--another figure out of Castilian
romance.
While he and Alaire were talking the passengers had returned to
their seats; they were shouting good-byes to the soldiers
opposite; the engine-bell was clanging loudly; and now the
conductor approached to warn Longorio that the train was about to
leave. But the railway official had learned a wholesome respect
for uniforms, and therefore he hung back until, urged by
necessity, he pushed forward and informed the general of his train
orders.
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