es with General Castro," whispered Benicia Ortega. "He stays with
him. We shall see him at the ball to-night."

As Don Vicente passed Ysabel their eyes met for a moment. His opened
suddenly with a bold eager flash, his arched nostrils twitching. The
colour left her face, and her eyes dropped heavily.

Love needed no kindling in the heart of the Californian.

II

The people of Monterey danced every night of their lives, and went
nowhere so promptly as to the great sala of Dona Modeste Castro, their
leader of fashion, whose gowns were made for her in the city of Mexico.

Ysabel envied her bitterly. Not because the Dona Modeste's skin was
whiter than her own, for it could not be, nor her eyes greener, for they
were not; but because her jewels were richer than Pio Pico's, and
upon all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls gleamed in her
storm-black hair. But one feminine compensation had Ysabel: she was
taller; Dona Modeste's slight elegant figure lacked Ysabel's graceful
inches, and perhaps she too felt a pang sometimes as the girl undulated
above her like a snake about to strike.

At the fashionable hour of ten Monterey was gathered for the dance. All
the men except the officers wore black velvet or broadcloth coats and
white trousers. All the women wore white, the waist long and pointed,
the skirt full. Ysabel's gown was of embroidered crepe. Her hair was
coiled about her head, and held by a tortoise comb framed with a narrow
band of gold. Pio Pico, splendid with stars and crescents and rings and
pins, led her in, and with his unique ugliness enhanced her beauty.

She glanced eagerly about the room whilst replying absently to the
caballeros who surrounded her. Don Vicente de la Vega was not there. The
thick circle about her parted, and General Castro bent over her hand,
begging the honour of the contradanza. She sighed, and for the moment
forgot the Southerner who had flashed and gone like the beginning of a
dream. Here was a man--the only man of her knowledge whom she could have
loved, and who would have found her those pearls. Californians had so
little ambition! Then she gave a light audacious laugh. Governor Pico
was shaking hands cordially with General Castro, the man he hated best
in California.

No two men could have contrasted more sharply than Jose Castro and
Pio Pico--with the exception of Alvarado the most famous men of their
country. The gold trimmings of the general's uniform were his only