The mystery of the drawing-room, and the servants, and the dishes, was
soon over. A descending stairway explained the enigma.
"Let me conduct you to my cave, gentlemen," said the Spaniard: "I am
half a subterranean. In the hot weather, and during the northers, we
find it more agreeable to live under the ground. Follow me, Senores."
We descended, with the exception of Oakes, who returned to look after
the men.
At the foot of the staircase we entered a hall brilliantly lighted. The
floor was without a carpet, and exhibited a mosaic of the finest marble.
The walls were painted of a pale blue colour, and embellished by a
series of pictures from the pencil of Murillo. These were framed in a
costly and elegant manner. From the ceiling were suspended chandeliers
of a curious and unique construction, holding in their outstretched
branches wax candles of an ivory whiteness.
Large vases of waxen flowers, covered with crystals, stood around the
hall upon tables of polished marble. Other articles of furniture,
candelabra, girandoles, gilded clocks, filled the outline. Broad
mirrors reflected the different objects; so that, instead of one
apartment, this hall appeared only one of a continuous suite of splendid
drawing-rooms.
And yet, upon closer observation, there seemed to be no door leading
from this hall, which, as Don Cosme informed his guests, was the
_ante-sala_.
Our host approached one of the large mirrors, and slightly touched a
spring. The tinkling of a small bell was heard within; and at the same
instant the mirror glided back, reflecting in its motion a series of
brilliant objects, that for a moment bewildered our eyes with a blazing
light.
"_Pasan adentro, Senores_," said Don Cosme, stepping aside, and waving
us to enter.
We walked into the drawing-room. The magnificence that greeted us
seemed a vision--a glorious and dazzling hallucination--more like the
gilded brilliance of some enchanted palace than the interior of a
Mexican gentleman's habitation.
As we stood gazing with irresistible wonderment, Don Cosme opened a
side-door, and called aloud, "_Ninas, ninas, ven aca_!" (Children, come
hither!)
Presently we heard several female voices, blending together like a
medley of singing birds.
They approached. We heard the rustling of silken dresses, the falling
of light feet in the doorway, and three ladies entered--the senora of
Don Cosme, followed by her two beautiful daughters, the heroines of our
aquatic adventure.
These hesitated a moment, scanning our faces; then, with a cry of
"_Nuestro Salvador_!" both rushed forward, and knelt, or rather
crouched, at my feet, each of them clasping one of my hands and covering
it with kisses.
Their panting agitation, their flashing eyes, the silken touch of their
delicate fingers, sent the blood rushing through my veins like a stream
of lava; but in their gentle accents, the simple ingenuousness of their
expressions, the childlike innocence of their faces, I regarded them
only as two beautiful children kneeling in the _abandon_ of gratitude.
Meanwhile Don Cosme had introduced Clayley and the major to his senora,
whose baptismal name was Joaquina; and taking the young ladies one in
each hand, he presented them as his daughters, Guadalupe and Maria de la
Luz (Mary of the Light).
"Mama," said Don Cosme, "the gentlemen had not quite finished their
cigars."
"Oh! they can smoke here," replied the senora.
"Will the ladies not object to that?" I inquired.
"No--no--no!" ejaculated they simultaneously.
"Perhaps you will join us?--we have heard that such is the custom of
your country."
"It _was_ the custom," said Don Cosme. "At present the young ladies of
Mexico are rather ashamed of the habit."
"We no smoke--Mamma, yes," added the elder--the brunette--whose name was
Guadalupe.
"Ha! you speak English?"
"Little Englis speak--no good Englis," was the reply.
"Who taught you English?" I inquired, prompted by a mysterious
curiosity.
"Un American us teach--Don Emilio."
"Ha! an American?"
"Yes, Senor," said Don Cosme: "a gentleman from Vera Cruz, who formerly
visited our family."
I thought I could perceive a desire upon the part of our host not to
speak further on this subject, and yet I felt a sudden, and, strange to
say, a painful curiosity to know more about Don Emilio, the American,
and his connection with our newly-made acquaintance. I can only explain
this by asking the reader if he or she has not experienced a similar
feeling while endeavouring to trace the unknown past of some being in
whom either has lately taken an interest--an interest stronger than
friendship?
That mamma smoked was clear, for the old lady had already gone through
the process of unrolling one of the small cartouche-like cigars. Having
re-rolled it between her fingers, she placed it within the gripe of a
pair of small golden pincers.
This done, she held one end to the coals that lay upon the _brazero_,
and ignited the paper. Then, taking the other end between her thin,
purlish lips, she breathed forth a blue cloud of aromatic vapour.
After a few whiffs she invited the major to participate, offering him a
cigarrito from her beaded cigar-case.
This being considered an especial favour, the major's gallantry would
not permit him to refuse. He took the cigarrito, therefore; but, once
in possession, he knew not how to use it.
Imitating the senora, he opened the diminutive cartridge, spreading out
the edges of the wrapper, but attempted in vain to re-roll it.
The ladies, who had watched the process, seemed highly amused,
particularly the younger, who laughed outright.
"Permit me, Senor Coronel," said the Dona Joaquina, taking the cigarrito
from the major's hand, and giving it a turn through her nimble fingers,
which brought it all right again.
"Thus--now--hold your fingers thus. Do not press it: _suave, suave_.
This end to the light--so--very well!"
The major lit the cigar, and, putting it between his great thick lips,
began to puff in a most energetic style.
He had not cast off half a dozen whiffs when the fire, reaching his
fingers, burned them severely, causing him to remove them suddenly from
the cigar. The wrapper then burst open; and the loose pulverised
tobacco by a sudden inhalation rushed into his mouth and down his
throat, causing him to cough and splutter in the most ludicrous manner.
This was too much for the ladies, who, encouraged by the cachinnations
of Clayley, laughed outright; while the major, with tears in his eyes,
could be heard interlarding his coughing solo with all kinds of oaths
and expressions.
The scene ended by one of the young ladies offering the major a glass of
water, which he drank off, effectually clearing the avenue of his
throat.
"Will you try another, Senor Coronel?" asked Dona Joaquina, with a
smile.
"No, ma'am, thank you," replied the major, and then a sort of internal
subterraneous curse could be heard in his throat.
The conversation continued in English, and we were highly amused at the
attempts of our new acquaintances to express themselves in that
language.
After failing, on one occasion, to make herself understood, Guadalupe
said, with some vexation in her manner:
"We wish brother was home come; brother speak ver better Englis."
"Where is he?" I inquired.
"In the ceety--Vera Cruz."
"Ha! and when did you expect him?"
"Thees day--to-night--he home come."
"Yes," added the Senora Joaquina, in Spanish: "he went to the city to
spend a few days with a friend; but he was to return to-day, and we are
looking for him to arrive in the evening."
"But how is he to get out?" cried the major, in his coarse, rough
manner.
"How?--why, Senor?" asked the ladies in a breath, turning deadly pale.
"Why, he can't pass the pickets, ma'am," answered the major.
"Explain, Captain; explain!" said the ladies, appealing to me with looks
of anxiety.