“Tell us, tell us, chiquita,” they cried, fearful lest Faquita’s snubbing should have turned her sulky, “what dost thou know?”

But Mariquita, who had been biting her lips to keep back her story, opened them and spoke fluently.

“Ay, my friends!  Dona Eustaquia and Benicia Ortega are not the only ones to wed Americans.  Listen!  La Tulita is mad for this man, who is no more handsome than the palm of my hand when it has all day been in the water.  Yesterday morning came Don Ramon.  I am in the back garden of the Casa Rivera with Ana, and La Tulita is in the front garden sitting under the wall.  I can look through the doors of the sala and see and hear all.  Such a handsome caballero, my friends!  The gold six inches deep on the serape.  Silver eagles on the sombrero.  And the botas!  Stamp with birds and leaves, ay, yi!  He fling open the gates so bold, and when he see La Tulita he look like the sun is behind his face. (Such curls, my friends, tied with a blue ribbon!) But listen!

“‘Mi querida!’ he cry, ‘mi alma!’ (Ay, my heart jump in my throat like he speak to me.) Then he fall on one knee and try to kiss her hand.  But she throw herself back like she hate him.  Her eyes are like the bay in winter.  And then she laugh.  When she do that, he stand up and say with the voice that shake:—­

“‘What is the matter, Herminia?  Do you not love me any longer?’

“‘I never love you,’ she say.  ’They give me no peace until I say I marry you, and as I love no one else—­I do not care much.  But now that you have insult me, I have the best excuse to break the engagement, and I do it.’

“‘I insult you?’ He hardly can speak, my friends, he is so surprised and unhappy.

“‘Yes; did you not forget the smocks?’

“‘The—­smocks!’ he stammer, like that.  ‘The smocks?’

“‘No one can be blame but you,’ she say.  ’And you know that no bride forgive that.  You know all that it means.’

“‘Herminia!’ he say.  ’Surely you will not put me; away for a little thing like that!’

“‘I have no more to say,’ she reply, and then she get up and go in the house and shut the door so I cannot see how he feel, but I am very sorry for him if he did forget the smocks.  Well!  That evening I help Ana water the flowers in the front garden, and every once in the while we look through the windows at La Tulita and the Lieutenant.  They talk, talk, talk.  He look so earnest and she—­she look so beautiful.  Not like a devil, as when she talk to Don Ramon in the morning, but like an angel.  Sure, a woman can be both!  It depends upon the man.  By and by Ana go away, but I stay there, for I like look at them.  After a while they get up and come out.  It is dark in the garden, the walls so high, and the trees throw the shadows, so they cannot see me.  They walk up and down, and by and by the Lieutenant take out his knife and cut a shoot from the rose-bush that climb up the house.