e recalls Hernando Cortes' wonder and delight at the flowery
surprises of the new world three hundred years ago.

"Ah, yes," says Senor Noma, who has caught the remark, "you see we haf
something worth your notice in this dark corner of America. If you
stay here longer you will find we haf many things you would like."

Baron de Bach is strangely quiet all the evening, but the unfailing
good temper of our host and the gaiety of the others keep us at the
table till the pale crescent of the new moon looks in over the vine
trellis to warn us of the waning hours.

"We must remember the Captain's caution to be back by eleven," says
Captain Ball, consulting his watch.

"Yes, but it ees scarce nine o'clock," says Senor Noma. "Mrs. Steele,
will you accept my escor'?" And our clever host, having won over the
only possible objector, leads the way out into the dim, mysterious
street.

"Vill you haf zome Eendian dthings, _en souvenir_?" asks the Baron,
offering me his arm.

"Indian things!" I echoed, delighted. "I should like to see them
immensely, wouldn't you, Mrs. Steele?" and I explain. The notion is
received with enthusiasm, and Baron de Bach takes us to a little shop,
where some sinister-looking men and women show us glazed clay mugs
rudely decorated and often adorned with some Spanish name in scrawling
script. There are carafes with cups to match, pipes, whistles, and
animals in clay and little dishes of every description. The Baron buys
a great tray full of these things, and hires a barefooted "moso" to
carry them down to the wharf. We go on to the garden-planted Plaza
that had so attracted us by day. Now it is a blaze of light and
resonant with the strains of a Mexican band. Dark-visaged idlers
lounge on the long seats about the garden, and a constantly shifting
throng moves up and down on every side.

Affecting to show me a white flower that thrust its dainty head
through the garden's iron fence and filled the air with heavy, strange
perfume, Baron de Bach separates me a few moments from my friends.

"At last," he says, with a deep breath, looking around and seeing that
the others have passed on, "I haf you a moment alone. I haf been in
torture dthese seven hours."

"Very polite speech," I answer, peering through the garden's iron
palings, "seeing that you have been with me these seven sad hours."

"Ah, Senorita, it ees no use dthat I egsplain, you air zo fery
heartless. I do not find myself possible to make you