The theater of Arequipa was ablaze with lights. The youth and beauty
had assembled to follow the fortunes of the Count de Monte Christo. I
was seated in the dress circle listening to the weird warlike strains
of Spanish music, when my eyes fell upon the occupants of a box. A
beautiful girl, half hidden by the rich draperies, was talking with an
aristocratic looking old gentleman, while by their side sat a young
man, dark-browed and sinister looking. I arose and entered the box
from the side door. "Don Julian Maldonado, I am delighted to meet
you," I said, "I am the boy you befriended some years ago in the
Cordilleras."
He took my hand delightedly and bade me be seated, offering me a chair
between himself and daughter. Don Julian whispered to me not to make
myself known to Felicita to see if she would recognize me. All this
was amusing to Don Julian, but somewhat embarrassing to me, seated, as
I was, between them, and trying to carry on a conversation with him.
The expression of wonderment in Felicita's beautiful eyes was
disconcerting to say the least. It was evident she did not remember
me. And yet how could she be expected to. She was a child of only nine
years when we first met, and who now, seven years later found me
unexpected and unannounced sitting beside her in a theater.
Laughingly I turned to her and asked if she did not recognize me,
explaining that the reason her father had not presented me was that we
had met seven years ago.
While I was speaking she was looking earnestly at me, but when I
recalled their journey to La Paz she appeared dubious and asked if I
was the young lad she met near Puno and if it was possible that I had
grown to manhood and learned to speak Spanish? When I reassured her,
the look of astonishment gave way to an exclamation of joy.
The play was forgotten. We only talked of our first meeting. She
asked if I was staying in Arequipa and on learning that I was,
promised that we should meet again, as her father had decided to
remain there for some time. I was delighted but felt somewhat
disturbed because of the young man in the box with her. When I began
to talk to Felicita he moved his seat farther away. The Peruvians are
the acme of politeness.
The play being over, I assisted Felicita with her wraps. Her father
then introduced me to Don Rodrigo Garcia, a fellow traveller whom they
had met on their journey from Cusco to Arequipa.
I was not particularly well pleased with the young man. First
impressions sometimes give rise to doubt and distrust. It was so with
me in this instance. Don Julian insisted on my going home with them. I
walked with Felicita on one side and Don Julian on the other, Don
Rodrigo walking just ahead of me. Their home was on Calle Mercaderes,
one of the prettiest squares of the city. Like most Peruvian homes,
the house was of adobe with flat roof and partitions of plastered
cane. It contained six rooms. In the windows were heavy iron bars,
like all houses of the better class. They were very serviceable, for
Spanish lovers do their courting between the window bars. The girl
sits beside the window and her wooer stands in the street; the parents
sometimes invite him in. Should he request the company of the girl to
the play or to any entertainment, the invitation must include the
whole family. This custom in the larger cities is dying out, but in
the inland cities it is still adhered to.
Arriving at the door, I bade Felicita and her father good night with
the assurance that I would dine with them the next day. Don Rodrigo
also was invited. His hotel was on my way and I accompanied him. He
was splendid company, and after reaching his hotel I accepted his
invitation to a light lunch. Afterwards we enjoyed a cigar and some
rich old wine, but still I could not overcome the aversion I first
formed for him.
The following day, long before the appointed time for dinner, I was
dressed and ready. Chico, a half-breed Indian, whom I had rendered a
service one time when he was being set upon by some of his own people,
and who afterwards slept in my passage way, had my boots polished and
horse carefully groomed. He was a faithful servant. He would find out
where I went and quietly follow, and after the manner of his race,
would lie down in some obscure place in perfect contentment and wait
for me. I arrived at the home of Don Julian at the appointed time, and
found the father and daughter awaiting me. A few moments later, Don
Rodrigo arrived and we were seated in the parlor facing the street. It
was splendidly appointed. Although the exterior of many Peruvian
residences appear shabby, the interior presents a far different
appearance.
I requested Felicita to play for us and time passed quickly. Dinner
being called I took the liberty of escorting Felicita to the table and
was given the place beside her. The Indian servants between courses,
kept our glasses filled. Felicita did not take wine, and when dinner
was over retired, leaving us to enjoy our cigars and liquor. We
afterwards adjourned to the parlor, where I gave my friends an account
of my life since our first meeting. I could see that Don Rodrigo took
every opportunity to make light of my narrative.
I did not allude to being in Ilo during the Amythist and Huascar
affair, but after I had given my friends a brief account of myself,
Don Rodrigo asked me my nationality. I told him I was Scottish. He
then asked me what I thought of the Huascar affair, hoping no doubt to
belittle my standing with Don Julian. I replied that I had given it
very little thought, and moreover considered it a question for both
governments to settle, and was satisfied that everything would be
adjusted amicably.
My reply seemed to annoy him, as he doubtless thought I would commit
myself, and take the part of the British. He arose, and pleading a
press of business, begged permission to retire. He shook hands with
Don Julian and daughter, but merely bowed to me. I was glad he was
gone.
Never before had I been so happy as now, in Felicita's presence. For
the first time since leaving home this was the only pleasure I had
known. Felicita sang some pretty Spanish ballads to the music of her
guitar and I went home that night with a lightness of heart I had not
experienced for a long time.
My duties not requiring me to be away from Arequipa often, much of my
time was spent with Felicita. Together we would ride horseback over
the picturesque valley, with its olive and orange groves and along
shaded avenues of palms, with pebbly brooks of crystal waters on
either side. The pure air and semi-tropical skies stimulated our
buoyant spirits, and made these the halcyon days of my existence. My
first dreams of love when we met in the Cordilleras were now a
blissful reality.
I saw little of Don Rodrigo in the weeks that followed and was seldom
in the company of my comrades. Once a week I would join them at the
club, but aside from that I was always to be found at Don Julian's
home.
Months sped by in sweet content as the world took on a more roseate
hue and the future presented an alluring picture.
I met Don Rodrigo on the street one day and as he nodded slightly I
noticed an evil look in his eyes. On returning to my room late that
night something glistened in the moonlight on my door. I struck a
match, a blood red heart was traced on the panel, and in the center
stuck a dagger. What did it mean?