Though they were dressed exactly in the same style--wearing black lace
shawls, with high combs holding them above their heads--though their
figures were scarce to be distinguished in height, shape, or
_tournure_--though the backs of both were toward me--I could tell my
chosen at a glance.
There is something in the physical form--less in its muscular
development than its motion--in the play of the arms and limbs--that
proclaims the spirit within. It is that unmistakeable, and yet
undefinable essence we term _grace_; which Nature alone can give, and
Art cannot acquire. It is a quality of the soul; and not belonging to
the body--to the adornment of which it but lends itself.
It proclaimed itself in every movement of Mercedes Villa-Senor--in her
step, her carriage, the raising of her hand, the serpentine undulation
perceptible throughout her whole frame. Every gesture made was a living
illustration of Hogarth's line.
Grace was not denied to Dolores; though to her given in a lesser degree.
There was a sprightliness about her movements that many might have
admired; but which in my mind but poorly compared with the grand,
queen-like, air that characterised the step of her sister.
I soon became aware that they were on their way to the Cathedral--whose
matin bells were filling the streets with their clangour. Other
intended devotees--most of them women, in shawls and _rebosos_--were
hastening across the Piazza Mayor, in the same direction.
Dolores alone looked round. Several times she did so--turning again
towards the Cathedral with an air of evident dissatisfaction.
Her seeing me made not the slightest difference--a stranger accidentally
walking the same way.
I felt no chagrin at her indifference. I divined the cause of it. I
was not "Querido Francisco."
Mercedes appeared to be uninterested in aught that was passing around.
Her air was that of one a little "out of sorts"--as was shown by the
cold salutations she exchanged with the "caballeros" encountered upon
the way, and who one and all seemed to court a more cordial "buenas
dias."
Only once did she show sign of being interested:--when an American
officer in the uniform of the Mounted Rifles came galloping along the
street. Then only during the six seconds spent in scrutinising him, as
he swept past; after which her eyes once more turned towards the
Cathedral.
Its massive door stood open to admit the early devotees, who were by
this time swarming up the steps.
The sisters became part of the throng, and passed on inside--Tia Josefa
closely following, and keeping up her espionage with as much strictness,
as while passing along the streets!