olemnity. "By the Virgen de los Remedios, and the
most excellent Sant Jago, that shall never be! Were we a thousand times as
ill, and this Zambo could cure us by the mere touch of his staff, as Senor
Don Moses did the Israelites--Dona Anna," said the man, with an assumption
of immense dignity, "we would rather die a thousand deaths that call the
Zambo Senor, or stand up before him. We are a _viejo Cristiano, y basta_!
Enough! I have spoken."

During this declaration of his principles, the Spaniard's cigar had gone
out; he lit another, pressed down his huge cocked hat deeper upon his
forehead, took a long cross-hilted dagger from the wall, with the words,
"_Ven, mi querida Virgen!_" and kissing the sacred emblem, laid it before
him. Husband and wife had quarrelled themselves weary, and now remained
silent.

The dispute seemed to have excited no interest in the saloon and mirador,
where the young ladies were still lounging, yawning, and smoking; their
features wearing that disagreeable relaxed expression which is frequently
to be observed in the countenances of Mexican women. A moment, however,
was sufficient to change the scene. The Senorita Ximene had gazed awhile,
with the drooping underlip and careless glance of indifference, upon a
number of persons who were coming up the Tacuba Street, and who, to judge
from their garb, were for the most part members of the _cinco gremios_,
the five guilds or handicrafts. On a sudden, however, her eyes lost their
vague and languid look, and became fixed and sparkling; her lips were
protruded as if inviting a kiss; her hand was extended, her mantilla fell,
as of itself, into graceful folds--it was but an instant, and the damsel
was completely transformed. Her two companions had scarcely remarked this
change, when they in their turn underwent a like metamorphosis; their
countenance became all animation, their manner fascination itself; they
were no longer the same beings.

"_Don Pinto y un superbo hombre!_" whispered Ximene.

"_Quien es?_ Who is it?" asked Celestine.

"_No se_," replied the other two.

The whispering and commotion in the balcony had roused Dona Isidra from
her state of indolent apathy. Her hair was already tressed and knotted;
she now hastily slipped on a gown, darted through the folding-doors out
upon the mirador, and clapped her hands together, uttering the words,
"_Venid, venid, querido!_" Then tripping back into the saloon with her
three companions, they all