“Let him come,” cried Reinaldo.  “God of my life!—­I am glad that he comes, this lord of redwood forests and fog-bound cliffs.  It is well that he see the splendor of the Iturbi y Moncadas,—­our pageants and our gay diversions, our cavalcades of beauty and elegance under a canopy of smiling blue.  Glad I am that he comes.  Once for all shall he learn that, although his accursed family has beaten ours in war and politics, he can never hope to rival our pomp and state.”

“Ah!” said Valencia to Chonita, “I have heard of this Diego Estenega.  I too am glad that he comes.  I have the advantage of thee this time, my friend.  Thou and he must hate each other, and for once I am without a rival.  He shall be my slave.”  And she tossed her spirited head.

“He shall not!” cried Chonita, then checked herself abruptly, the blood rushing to her hair.  “I hate him so,” she continued hurriedly to the astonished Valencia, “that I would see no woman show him favor.  Thou wilt not like him, Valencia.  He is not handsome at all,—­no color in his skin, not even white, and eyes in the back of his head.  No mustache, no curls, and a mouth that looks,—­oh, that mouth, so grim, so hard!—­no, it is not to be described.  No one could; it makes you hate him.  And he has no respect for women; he thinks they were made to please the eye, no more.  I do not think he would look ten seconds at an ugly woman.  Thou wilt not like him, Valencia, sure.”

“Ay, but I think I shall.  What thou hast said makes me wish to see him the more.  God of my life! but he must be different from the men of the South.  And I shall like that.”

“Perhaps,” said Chonita, coldly.  “At least he will not break thy heart, for no woman could love him.  But come and take thy siesta, no? and refresh thyself for the dance.  I will send thee a cup of chocolate.”  And, bending her head to Adan, she swept down the corridor, followed by Valencia.

XV.

Those were two busy months before Prudencia’s wedding.  Twenty girls, sharply watched and directed by Dona Trinidad and the sometime mistress of Casa Grande, worked upon the marriage wardrobe.  Prudencia would have no use for more house-linen; but enough fine linen was made into underclothes to last her a lifetime.  Five keen-eyed girls did nothing but draw the threads for deshalados, and so elaborate was the open-work that the wonder was the bride did not have bands and stripes of rheumatism.  Others fashioned crepes and flowered silks and heavy satins into gowns with long pointed waists and full flowing skirts, some with sleeves of lace and high to the base of the throat, others cut to display the plump whiteness of the owner.  Twelve rebosos were made for her; Dona Trinidad gave her one of her finest mantillas; Chonita, the white satin embroidered with poppies, for which she had conceived a capricious dislike.  She also invited Prudencia to take what she pleased from her wardrobe; and Prudencia, who was nothing if not practical, helped herself to three gowns which had been made for Chonita at great expense in the city of Mexico, four shawls of Chinese crepe, a roll of pineapple silk, and an American hat.