The Bandolero; Or, A Marriage among the Mountains Read online

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE LADY IN THE BALCON.

  Notwithstanding the disagreeables above enumerated, and some others, Iwas not among those who would have preferred quarters in Timbuctoo.

  One's liking for a place often depends upon a trivial circumstance; andjust such a circumstance had given me a _penchant_ for Puebla.

  The human heart is capable of a sentiment that can turn dirt intodiamonds, or darkness to light,--at least in imagination. Under itsinfluence the peasant's hut becomes transformed into a princely palace;and the cottage girl assumes the semblance of a queen.

  Possessed by this sentiment, I thought Puebla a paradise; for I knewthat it contained, if not an angel, one "fair as the first that fell ofwomankind." As yet only on one occasion had I seen her; then only at adistance, and for a time scarce counting threescore seconds.

  It was during the ceremonial of our entry into the place, alreadydescribed. As the van of our columns debouched into the Piazza Grande ahalt had been ordered, necessarily extending to the regiments in therear. The spot where my own troop had need to pull up was overlooked bya large two-story house, of somewhat imposing appearance, with frescoedfront, _balcons_, and _portales_. Of course there were windows; and itwas not likely that so situated I should feel shy about looking at, oreven _into_ them. There are times and circumstances when a man may bepermitted to dispense with the strictest observance of etiquette; and,though it may be quite unchivalric, the conqueror claims, on theoccasion of making entry into a conquered city, the right to peep intothe windows.

  No better than the rest of my fellows, I availed myself of the saucyprivilege, by glancing toward the windows of the house, before which wehad halted.

  In those below there was nobody or nothing--only the red iron bars andthe black emptiness behind them.

  On turning my eyes upwards, I saw something very different--somethingthat rivetted my gaze, in spite of every effort to avert it. There wasa window with balcony in front, and green Venetians inside. Halfstanding on the sill, and holding the _jalousies_ back, was a woman--Ihad almost said an _angel_!

  Certainly was she the fairest thing I had ever seen, or in fancyconceived; and my reflection at the time was--I well remember makingit--if there be _two_ of her sort in Puebla, the place is appropriatelynamed--_La Puebla de los Angeles_!

  She was not of the fair-haired kind, so fashionable in late days; butdark, with deep dreamy eyes; a mass of black hair, surmounted by a largetortoise-shell comb; eyebrows so pretty as to appear painted; with acorresponding tracery upon the upper lip--the _bigotite_ that tells ofAndalusian stock, and descent from the children of the Cid.

  While gazing upon her--no doubt rudely enough--I saw that she returnedthe glance. At first I thought _kindly_; but then with a serious air,as if resenting my rudeness. I would have given anything I possessed toappease her--the horse I was riding, or aught else. I would have givenmuch for a flower to fling at her feet--knowing the effect of suchlittle flatteries on the Mexican "muchacha;" but, unfortunately, therewas no flower near.

  In default of one, I bethought me of a substitute--my sword-knot!

  The gold tassel was instantly detached from the guard, and fell into thebalcony at her feet.

  I did not see her take it up. The bugle at that moment sounded theadvance; and I was forced to ride forward at the head of my troop.

  On glancing back, as we turned out of the street, I saw that she wasstill outside; and fancied there was something glittering between herfingers in addition to the jewelled rings that encircled them.

  I noted the name of the street. It was the Calle del Obispo.

  In my heart I registered a vow: that, ere long, I should be back in theCalle del Obispo.

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  I was not slow in the fulfilment of that vow. The very next day, afterbeing released from morning parade, I repaired to the place in which thefair apparition had made itself manifest.

  I had no difficulty in recognising the house. It was one of the largestin the street, easily distinguished by its frescoed front, windows with"balcons," and jalousies inside. A grand gate entrance piercing thecentre told that carriages were kept. In short, everything betokenedthe residence of a "rico."

  I remembered the very window--so carefully had I made my mentalmemoranda.

  It looked different now. There was but the frame; the picture was nolonger in it.

  I glanced to the other windows of the dwelling. They were all alikeempty. The blinds were drawn down. No one inside appeared to take anyinterest in what was passing in the street.

  I had my walk for nothing. A score of turns, up and down; three cigarssmoked while making them; some sober reflections that admonished me Iwas doing a very ridiculous thing; and I strolled back to my quarterswith a humiliating sense of having made a fool of myself, and a resolvenot to repeat the performance.