“No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the street, but one awaits me in the house.  Hasta luego.”  And she flitted out of the door and up the street.

XI

A few hours later Dona Eustaquia sat in the large and cooler sala with Captain Brotherton.  He read Shakespeare to her whilst she fanned herself, her face aglow with intelligent pleasure.  She had not broached to him the uprising in the South lest it should lead to bitter words.  Although an American and a Protestant, few friends had ever stood so close to her.

He laid down the book as Russell and Benicia entered the room.  Dona Eustaquia’s heavy brows met.

“Thou knowest that I do not allow thee to walk with on the street,” she said in Spanish.

“But, mamacita, he is my husband.  We were married this morning at Blandina’s,” Excitement had tuned Benicia’s spirit to its accustomed pitch, and her eyes danced with mischief.  Moreover, although she expected violent reproaches, she knew the tenacious strength of her mother’s affection, and had faith in speedy forgiveness.

Brotherton opened his eyes, but Dona Eustaquia moved back her head impatiently.  “That silly joke!” Then she smiled at her own impatience.  What was Benicia but a spoiled child, and spoiled children would disobey at times.  “Welcome, my son,” she said to Russell, extending her hand.  “We celebrate your marriage at the supper to-night, and the Captain helps us, no? my friend.”

“Let us have chicken with red pepper and tomato sauce,” cried Russell.  “And rice with saffron; and that delightful dish with which I remonstrate all night—­olives and cheese and hard-boiled eggs and red peppers all rolled up in corn-meal cakes.”

“Enchiladas?  You have them!  Now, both you go over to the corner and talk not loud, for I wish to hear my friend read.”

Russell, lifting his shoulders, did as he was bidden.  Benicia, with a gay laugh, kissed her mother and flitted like a butterfly about the room, singing gay little snatches of song.

“Oh, mamacita, mamacita,” she chanted.  “Thou wilt not believe thou hast lost thy little daughter.  Thou wilt not believe thou hast a son.  Thou wilt not believe I shall sleep no more in the little brass bed—­”

“Benicia, hold thy saucy tongue!  Sit down!” And this Benicia finally consented to do, although smothered laughter came now and again from the corner.

Dona Eustaquia sat easily against the straight back of her chair, looking very handsome and placid as Brotherton read and expounded “As You Like It” to her.  Her gown of thin black silk threw out the fine gray tones of her skin; about her neck and chest was a heavy chain of Californian gold; her dense lustreless hair was held high with a shell comb banded with gold; superb jewels weighted her little white hands; in her small ears were large hoops of gold studded with black pearls.  She was perfectly contented in that hour.  Her woman’s vanity was at peace and her eager mind expanding.