Ramón looked them both in the face, and knew. Kate, in her new elusiveness, laughed softly.
“There is another flower opened in the garden of Quetzalcoatl,” said Cipriano in Spanish.
“Under the red cannas of Huitzilopochtli,” said Ramón.
“Yes, there, Señor,” said Cipriano. “Pero una florecita tan zarca! Y abrió en mi sombra, amigo.”
“Seis hombre de la alta fortuna.”
“Verdad!”
It was about five in the afternoon. The wind hissed in the leaves, and suddenly the rain was streaming down in a white smoke of power. The ground was a solid white smoke of water, the lake was gone.
“You will have to stay here to-night,” said Cipriano to Kate, in Spanish, in the soft, lapping Indian voice.
“But the rain will leave off,” she said.
“You will have to stay here,” he repeated, in the same Spanish phrase, in a curious voice like a breath of wind.