In such surroundings, and in spite of faint misgivings, it was not strange that, after a few days, Alaire’s unhappiness assumed a vaguely impersonal quality and that her life, for the moment, seemed not to be her own.  Even the thought of her husband, Ed Austin, became indistinct and unreal.  Then all too soon she realized that the purpose of her visit was accomplished and that she had no excuse for remaining longer.  She was now armed with sufficient facts to make a definite demand upon the Federal government.

The lieutenant took charge of the return journey to the railroad, and the two women rode to the jingling accompaniment of metal trappings.  When at last they were safely aboard the north-bound train, Alaire mildly teased Dolores about her recent timidity.  But Dolores was not to be betrayed into premature rejoicing.

“Anything may happen at a moment’s notice,” she declared.  “Something tells me that I am to meet a shocking fate.  I can hear those ruffianly soldiers quarreling over me—­it is what comes from good looks.”  Dolores mechanically smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and adjusted her hair.  “Mark you!  I shall kill myself first.  I have made up my mind to that.  But it is a great pity we were not born ugly.”

Alaire could not forbear a smile, for she who thus resigned herself to the penalties of beauty had never been well favored, and age had destroyed what meager attractions she may have once possessed.

Dolores went on after a time.  “My Benito will not long remain unmarried.  He is like all men.  More than once I have suspected him of making eyes at young women, and any girl in the country would marry him just for my fine silver coffee-pot and those spoons.  There is my splendid silk mantilla, with fringe half as long as your arm, too.  Oh, I have treasures enough!” She shook her head mournfully.  “It is a mistake for a wife to lay up pretty things, since they are merely temptations to other women.”

Alaire tried to reason her out of this mood.  “Why should any one molest us?  Who could wish us harm?” she asked.

“Ha!  Did you see that general?  He was like a drunken man in your presence; it was as if he had laid eyes upon the shining Madonna.  I could hear his heart beating.”

“Nonsense!  In the first place, I am an old married woman.”

Dolores sniffed.  “Vaya!  Old, indeed!  What does he care for a husband?  He only cares that you have long, bright hair, redder than rust, and eyes like blue flowers, and a skin like milk.  An angel could not be so beautiful.”

“Ah, Dolores, you flatterer!  Seriously, though, don’t you realize that we are Americans, and people of position?  An injury to us would bring terrible consequences upon General Longorio’s head.  That is why he sent his soldiers with us.”

“All the same,” Dolores maintained stubbornly, “I wish I had brought that shawl and that silver coffee-pot with me.”