ellowed white. There was a merchant or
so, a coffee exporter or so, a ranchero or so, and hacendados from the
interior. But they were all hard, typical, and often darkly scowling,
which seemed an habitual expression inspired by the thought of a foreign
Hapsburg emperor so mighty and proud, far off in their capital. There
was not an officer among them; nor, quite likely, a gentleman. Never a
bit of red was to be seen from the garrison on the hill. The French
invaders up there, with pardonable taste, kept to themselves. Their
policing ended with the smothering of revolt. So against the stain of
tainted mankind, the vision of delicate femininity contrasted as a fleck
of spotless white on a besmeared palette. But crows, scavengers, men,
they were all so many "creatures" to Jacqueline--the setting of a very
novel scene, and she would not have had it otherwise.

She turned to her maid, who shrank hesitating in the boat. "Berthe, you
pitiful little ninny, are you coming? Then do, and do not forget the
satchel." For a promenade of an hour the inhabitants of two imperial
courts must needs have a satchel, filled of course with mysteries of the
toilet. The maid obeyed, and followed her mistress up the lazy ascending
street. They passed through the Alameda of dense cypresses, an inky blot
as on glaring manila paper, while the shade overhead was profane with
jackdaws. The lady tripped on, and into the street again. Ney and a
sailor hurried to overtake her. The other sailors meantime went on their
errand for fresh meat, but Michel had said to the steward in charge, "If
there should be any need, I'll send this man to you. Then you come, all
of you, quick!"

Jacqueline pushed on her voyage of discovery, and her retinue trooped
behind, single file, over the narrow, burning sidewalks of patched
flagstone. The word "Cafe" on a corner building caught her eye. It was a
native fonda, overflowing with straw-bottomed chairs and rusty iron
tables half-way across the street, making carts and burros find their
way round. Mexico's outward signs at least were being done over into
French. Hence the dignity of "Cafe."

"Here is Paris," the explorer announced. "And this is the Boulevard."
She seated herself before one of the iron tables that rocked on the
egg-like cobblestones. She made Ney sit down also, and included Berthe
and the sailor. An olive barefoot boy took their order for black coffee.
Jacqueline's elbows were on the table and her chin on