have always
the hope to be rid of them the sooner. Well, well! I am not a saint yet,
and when I go to heaven I suppose Concha will still shake her finger at
me with a smile. Not that she was ever self-righteous, our Concha. Not a
bit of it. Only after that long and terrible waiting she just naturally
became a saint. Some are made that way and some are not. That is all.

"Did I tell you about the two young lieutenants that came with Baron
Rezanov? Davidov and Khostov their names were. Well, well, I shall tell
all tonight. I was but fourteen, but what will you? Was I not, then,
Spanish? It was Davidov. He always left the older people to romp with
the children, although I think there was a flame in his heart for
Concha. Perhaps had I been older--who knows? Do not look at my whiskers!
That was forty-two years ago. Well, I dreamed of the fair kind young
Russian for many a night after he left, and when my time came to marry I
would look at none of the caballeros, but nursed Rafaella's babies and
thought my thoughts. And then--in 1815 I think it was--the good--and
ugly--Dr. Langsdorff sent Luis a copy of his book--he had been surgeon
to his excellency--and alas! it told of the terrible end of both those
gay kind young men. They were always too fond of brandy; we knew that,
but we never--well, hear me! One night not so many years after they
sailed away from California, they met Dr. Langsdorff and another friend
of their American days, Captain D'Wolf, by appointment in St. Petersburg
for a grand reunion. They were all so happy! Perhaps it was that made
them too much 'celebrate,' as the Americans say in their dialect. Well,
alas! they celebrated until four in the morning, and then my two dear
young Russians--for I loved Khostov as a sister, so devoted he was to my
friend--well, they started--on foot--for home, and that was on the other
side of the Neva. They had almost crossed the bridge when they suddenly
took it into their heads that they wanted to see their friends again,
and started back. Alas, in the middle of the bridge was a section that
opened to permit the passage of boats with tall masts. The night was
dark and stormy. The bridge was open. They did not see it. The river was
roaring and racing like a flood. A sailor saw them fall, and then strike
back for the coming boat. Then he saw them no more. That was the last of
my poor friends.

"And we had all been so gay, so gay! For how could we know? All the
Russians said th