by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
EARLY BIRDS.
I supped with Francisco. The goddess Fortuna did not show any grudgeagainst him, for his short flirtation with the sister divinity; but, onhis return to the _monte_ table, again smiled upon him--as she did uponmyself.
By way of a change we paid our addresses to Coena and Bacchus--to thelatter more especially--keeping up our devotions to a late hour of thenight.
It did not hinder me from being early abroad on the morning after. Isaw the rose-tints upon the "White Sister," as Phoebus imprinted hisfirst kiss upon her snowy brow. I saw this as I entered the Calle delObispo--the magnificent mountain appearing like a white wall stretchedacross at the termination of the street!
You will scarce ask why I was there? Only, why at such an early hour?
I could but gaze at the house--trace the frescoes on its _facade_--feastmy eyes upon inanimate objects; or, if animate, only nest-buildingbirds, or domestics of the mansion.
You are thinking of Park-lane--not Puebla, where the angels rise early.In Park-lane they sleep till a late hour, having "retired" at a latehour. In Puebla they are up with the sun, having gone to bed with thesame.
The explanation is easy. Puebla is Catholic--a city of _orisons_.Park-lane is Protestant, and more given to midnight revels!
Had I not known the peculiarity of Mexican customs in this respect, Ishould not have been traversing the "Street of the Bishop" before seveno'clock in the morning.
But I did know them; and that the lady who, at that hour, or before it,is not on her way to church--_capilla, parroquia_, or cathedral--iseither too old to take an interest in the _confessional_, or too humbleto care for the Church at all!
Few there are of this sort in the City of the Angels. It was not likelythat Mercedes Villa-Senor would be among the number. Her sister,Dolores, had let me into a secret--without knowing, or intending it.
In Mexico there are two twilights--equally interesting to those who makelove by stealth. One precedes the rising, the other follows thesetting, of the sun.
It seems like reversing the order of nature to say that the former ismore favourable to the _culte_ of the god Cupid--but in Mexico it iseven so. While the Belgravian beauty lies asleep on her soft couch,dreaming of fresh conquests, the fair Poblana is abroad upon thestreets, or kneeling before the shrine of the Virgin--in the act of_making them_!
Early as I had sallied out, I was a little behind time. _Oracion_ bellshad commenced tolling all over the town. As I entered the Calle delObispo, I saw three female forms passing out at its opposite end. Twowalked side by side: the third a little behind them.
I might have permitted them to pass on without further remark, had itnot been that the great gate of the Casa Villa-Senor stood open.
The _portero_ was closing it, as if a party had just passed out; and itcould only be they who were going along the street.
The two in advance? Who should they be but the daughters of Don EusebioVilla-Senor?
The third I scarce spent a thought upon; or only to conjecture, that shewas _Tia Josefa_.
The Calle del Obispo had no further attractions for me. Folding mycloak around me, I followed the trio of senoras.
A spurt of quick walking brought me close upon the heels of Tia Josefa,and within good viewing distance of the two damsels--over whom she wasplaying _duena_.
I had no longer any doubt of their being the daughters of Don Eusebio,though both were veiled to the eyes. Over the eyes in fact: since theirshawls were carried _tapado_. Instead of hanging from the shoulder,they were drawn across the crown of the head, and held under the chin--so as completely to conceal the countenance!
The black Spanish eye sparkling in shadow was all that could have beenseen; though I saw it not: as I was at some distance behind them.
I saw that of Tia Josefa--as she turned, on perceiving my shadowprojected before her on the pavement.
There was a sudden glance, accompanied by the bristling of a fan, as thematernal hen ruffles her feathers when the shadow of the hawk is seensailing towards her chicks.
Only for an instant was I the object of _aunt_ Josefa's suspicion. Mymeek look, directed towards the "White Sister," at once reassured her.I was not the bird of prey she had been cautioned to keep guard against:and, after a cursory glance at me, she went on after her pair ofproteges.
I did likewise.
Though they were dressed exactly in the same style--wearing black laceshawls, with high combs holding them above their heads--though theirfigures were scarce to be distinguished in height, shape, or_tournure_--though the backs of both were toward me--I could tell mychosen at a glance.
There is something in the physical form--less in its musculardevelopment than its motion--in the play of the arms and limbs--thatproclaims the spirit within. It is that unmistakeable, and yetundefinable essence we term _grace_; which Nature alone can give, andArt cannot acquire. It is a quality of the soul; and not belonging tothe body--to the adornment of which it but lends itself.
It proclaimed itself in every movement of Mercedes Villa-Senor--in herstep, her carriage, the raising of her hand, the serpentine undulationperceptible throughout her whole frame. Every gesture made was a livingillustration of Hogarth's line.
Grace was not denied to Dolores; though to her given in a lesser degree.There was a sprightliness about her movements that many might haveadmired; but which in my mind but poorly compared with the grand,queen-like, air that characterised the step of her sister.
I soon became aware that they were on their way to the Cathedral--whosematin bells were filling the streets with their clangour. Otherintended devotees--most of them women, in shawls and _rebosos_--werehastening across the Piazza Mayor, in the same direction.
Dolores alone looked round. Several times she did so--turning againtowards the Cathedral with an air of evident dissatisfaction.
Her seeing me made not the slightest difference--a stranger accidentallywalking the same way.
I felt no chagrin at her indifference. I divined the cause of it. Iwas not "Querido Francisco."
Mercedes appeared to be uninterested in aught that was passing around.Her air was that of one a little "out of sorts"--as was shown by thecold salutations she exchanged with the "caballeros" encountered uponthe way, and who one and all seemed to court a more cordial "buenasdias."
Only once did she show sign of being interested:--when an Americanofficer in the uniform of the Mounted Rifles came galloping along thestreet. Then only during the six seconds spent in scrutinising him, ashe swept past; after which her eyes once more turned towards theCathedral.
Its massive door stood open to admit the early devotees, who were bythis time swarming up the steps.
The sisters became part of the throng, and passed on inside--Tia Josefaclosely following, and keeping up her espionage with as much strictness,as while passing along the streets!
I did the same--with a different intent.
