He turns away with a frown between his fine, straight brows.
"Madame, vill you and Señorita come to drive? I know dthe place and vill be intairpretair?"
"Yes," says Mrs. Steele. "I intend sending for a carriage; we can get over more ground in that way, and we have so little time."
The Peruvian gives an order to the servant and shortly a vehicle stands at the door. It is a lumbering old open carriage that has evidently been grand in its day—with two white horses that match it in age and decrepitude. In the best of spirits we drive off. The Baron talks Spanish with the driver and answers all our million inquiries.
We learn that the best houses are built round a hollow square called a patio, and the occasional glimpses through the opening of massive doors into these courts reveal a sun-shiny garden of tropical fruits and flowers. Roses everywhere fill the afternoon with fragrance, and the strong aroma of ripening bananas and pines makes the hot air heavy.
"Ees it like vhat you dthought?" asks the Peruvian.
"Much better in some respects," I say, "but the houses look dreadfully dreary outside; they are more like prisons than homes, with their great blank walls and here and there an arched and grated window."
"And there's not a pane of glass in the town," says Mrs. Steele, "lattices inside and wooden shutters without."
"Yes, and I've noticed ever so many pairs of bright eyes peering through those lattices. Poor things!" I say feelingly, "I suppose a Mexican girl of good family must have a very stupid time."
"Not in dthe slightes'," says the Peruvian with decision. "Vomans air much better take care off; dthey air fery happy, I 'sure you," and turning to me—"You vould like it yourself after a leedle."