CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
APPOINTMENT AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
In most Mexican cities of the first and second class, there is both a"Paseo" and an "Alameda;" the former a public drive--riding included;the latter more especially set apart for pedestrians, though there isalso a carriage way around it.
In the capital itself there are two Paseos--_Bucareli_ and _La Vega_.The latter extending along the famed _chinampas_, or "floating gardens,"is only fashionable at a certain season of the year--during the week ofCarnival. At all other times it is neglected for the more magnificentdrive of Bucareli.
The Paseo of Puebla is poor by comparison; but its Alameda is notwithout merits. It is a large quadrangle lying on the western edge ofthe city; with trees, walks, statues, flowers, fountains, and all theusual adornments of a public garden. Around it is a road for carriagesand equestrians, as well as a path for promenaders--with benches atintervals on which they may rest themselves.
Its view includes the _teocalli_ of Cholula, with the church of thevirgin "Remedios" on its top; beyond, the snow-cone of Popocatepec, andthe twin _nevada_ of the "White Sister."
It was not to look upon these that I was "in the Alameda at sixo'clock;" or, perhaps, a half-hour earlier.
With such an appointment as mine, no living man could have restrainedhimself from anticipating the time.
As the place is devoted to the three several kinds of recreation--walking, riding, driving--it was a question in which way Mercedes wouldpresent herself.
The last was the most likely; though the first would have been the moreconvenient--keeping in view the supposed purpose.
It was the mode I had myself adopted: having entered the enclosure as asimple pedestrian, and in civilian dress--to avoid observation.
I sauntered along the walks--apparently admiring the flowers, andcriticising the statues. It was sheer pretence--to deceive thepromenaders, who were moving before and behind me. At that moment I hadno thought, either of the elegancies of Art, or the beauties of Nature;not even for its sublimities, displayed within sight on the snow-cladslopes of the great "Cordillera."
I was thinking only of the beauty of woman--impatient to behold it inits most perfect type.
Was it to appear on foot, on horseback, or between wheels?
Considering the character of the times--and that Red Hats were in theAlameda--the last was the most likely.
Notwithstanding this conjecture, I scrutinised every female pedestrianwho came inside the enclosure--even those coifed by the cheapest_reboso_.
Though her sister had said otherwise, Mercedes might not always be freeto go forth? She might have to take her recreation by stealth, anddisguised?
My surmises soon came to an end; and, to my joy, proved erroneous.Dolores had been right. The _cochero_ in black glaze hat and _jaqueta_of blue camlet cloth, driving a pair of _frisones_, could be no otherthan he who had once lost a doubloon by staying too late over his stableduties?
I took no further note of him. Thenceforth my eyes were occupied with acountenance seen through the windows of the carriage. It was a_carretela_ of elegant construction--all glass in front--best plate, andclear as crystal.
The face inside was but improved by its interposition--toned to thesoftness of tinted wax.
It needed no scrutiny to identify it. There was no mistaking thecountenance of Mercedes.
I had done this before; but that was under the uncertain glimmer of astreet lamp.
I now saw it in the full light of day; and well did it bear theexposure. If possible it was more perfect than ever; and the jettyeyes, the carmine tinted checks, the lips--but I had no time to observethem in detail before the carriage came close up.
I saw that she was its sole occupant--unaccompanied either by sister, or_chaperone_. Even Tia Josefa was not with her!
It was true, then, what Dolores had said. Poor Dolores! I could nothelp feeling sympathy for her; the more so that I was now the friend ofher Francisco.
The carriage was coming on at a slow pace. The _frisones_ scarcetrotted. I had time to take some steps, which simple prudencesuggested. Even love has its instincts of caution; especially when fullof confidence.
Mine was to seek some solitary nook of the Alameda, where I mightobserve without being observed--except by the occupant of the_carretela_.
Fortune favoured me. A clump of Peruvian pepper-trees stood close by--their pendant fronds drooping over the drive. Under their shadow was arecess--quiet, cornered, apparently unoccupied. It was the very spot Iwas in search of.
In ten seconds I had placed myself under the _pimentos_.
In ten more the carriage came abreast of me--still slowly moving on.
My eyes met those of Mercedes!
Half blinded by the blaze of her beauty, I stood gazing upon it. Myglance must have betrayed my admiration; but not less the faltering fearthat had hold of me. It was in my heart, and must have been symbolledin my countenance. It was the humility of a man who feels that he isnot worthy of the woman he would worship; for I could have worshippedMercedes!
In five minutes afterwards I was _cursing_ her! She passed, with hereyes full upon me, but without showing any sign of recognition, eitherby speech or gesture!
It was only after they were averted that I thought of interpreting theirglance; and then I was prevented by a surprise that stupified me--a ragethat almost rendered me frantic.
Instead of the smile--the something more which I had been fondlyexpecting--the look vouchsafed to me was such as might have been givento a complete stranger!
And yet it was not like this. There was salutation in it, distant,disguised under some strange reserve--to me unreadable.
Was it caution? Was it coquetry?
It stung me to think it was the latter.
I gazed after the _carretela_ for an explanation. I was not likely toget it--now that the blind back of the vehicle was towards me, and itsoccupant no longer to be seen.
But I had it the instant after.
A little farther along the drive I saw a man pass out from among thepepper-trees; who, like myself, appeared to have been there "inwaiting."
Unlike me, he was on horseback--bestriding a well caparisoned steed.The man was no stranger to me. At a glance I saw who it was.
Yielding to a touch of the spur, his horse launched himself out into theroad; and was pulled up close to the _carretela_--through the openedwindow of which a white arm was at the same time protruded.
I saw the flashing of a jewelled wrist, with a _billetita_ held at thetips of tapering fingers!
Stodare could not have taken that note more adroitly, or concealed itwith quicker sleight, than did my friend Francisco Moreno--_never moreto be friend of mine_!