“I think not.  In any case I shall see you before I leave for Europe.  Much depends on whether I find my friend Carmen alive.”

“Carmen, Carmen!  I seem to know the name.  Is he a general?”

“Scarcely, I should think.  He was only a teniente of guerillas when we parted some ten years ago.”

“They are all generals now, my dear sir, and as plentiful as frogs in my native land.  If you are ever in doubt as to the rank of a Venezolano, you are always safe in addressing him as a general.  Yes, I fancy you will find your friend alive.  At any rate, there is a General Carmen, rather a leading man among the Blues, I think, and sometimes spoken of as a probable president.  You will, of course, put up at the Hotel de los Generales.  Ah, here is Bernhard with the five hundred dollars in hard money, for which you asked.  If you should want more, draw on us at sight.  I will give you a letter of introduction to the house of Bluehm & Bluthner at Caracas, who will be glad to cash your drafts at the current rate of exchange, and to whose care I will address any letters I may have occasion to write to you.”

This concluded my business with Mr. Van Voorst, and three days later I was once more in Caracas.  I found the place very little altered, less than I was myself.  I had entered it in high spirits, full of hope, eager for adventure, and intent on making my fortune.  Now my heart was heavy with sorrow and bitter with disappointment.  Though I had made my fortune, I had lost, as I thought, both the buoyancy of youth and the capacity for enjoyment, and I looked forward to the future without either hope or desire.

As I rode with Ramon into the patio of the hotel, where I had been arrested by the alguazils of the Spanish governor, a man came forward to greet me, so strikingly like the ancient posadero that I felt sure he was the latter’s son.  My surmise proved correct, and I afterwards heard, not without a sense of satisfaction, that the father was hanged by the patriots when they recaptured Caracas.

After I had engaged my rooms the posadero informed me (in answer to my inquiry) that General Salvador Carmen (this could be none other than my old friend) was with the army at La Victoria, but that he had a house at Caracas where his wife and family were then residing.  He also mentioned incidentally that several Spanish officers of distinction, who had arrived a few days previously, were staying in the posada—­doubtless the same spoken of by Van Voorst.

The day being still young, for I had left La Guayra betimes, I thought I could not do better than call on Juanita, who lived only a stone’s throw from the Hotel de los Generales.  She recognized me at once and received me—­almost literally—­with open arms.  When I essayed to kiss her hand, she offered me her cheek.

“After this long time!  It is a miracle!” she exclaimed.  “We mourned for you as one dead; for we felt sure that if you were living we should have had news of you.  How glad Salvador will be!  Where have you been all this time, and why, oh why, did you not write?”