The procession, which was now making its way across the square, had partly a comical, partly a mournful appearance, with an originality in its arrangement truly Mexican. A cargardor (porter) marched in front, bearing on his shoulders, by means of a leathern belt passed round his forehead (as all Mexican porters do), a chair, upon which was strapped a man, or rather a corpse, wrapped in a bloody sheet. The assassin, guarded by four soldiers, followed closely behind. Some gaping idlers, and a few friends of the dead man, who seemed to be making a sorry attempt to appear sad, closed the procession. Of all the individuals of which that crowd was composed, the man most at his ease was the criminal himself, who, with a cigar in his mouth, marched along with perfect coolness, addressing himself every now and then to the bloody corpse, which, to his great surprise, uttered not a word in reply. "Come, now," said he, "none of your waggish tricks, Panchito; you know quite well that I can't make your wife any allowance. You are shamming death well; but I am not to be done in that style." But Panchito was quite dead, let the assassin say what he might, and I could feel a cold shudder creep over me when the hideous corpse was borne close past me. Its eyes (for the sheet did not cover the face), with a stony glitter, stared at the sun with immovable fixity. The bull-fight amateur, who was doubtless more accustomed to such sights, walked right up to the procession, stopped it, and holding the letter of the China out to the murderer,
"Pay attention!" said he. "Have you not some acquaintance with the illustrious Pepito Rechifla—he who is to be garroted to-morrow?"
"Of course; I am a chum of his."
"Well, as you will, in all probability, not be executed before him, you will see him just now in the prison. Give him this letter from me."
"Ah! Señor Cavalier," said the Mexican girl, suddenly, who, with face bathed in tears, and a palpitating bosom, made her way through the crowd, threw herself at the murderer's feet, and seizing the corner of his cloak, after the ancient fashion, said, "By the blood of Christ, and the merits of the Virgin in her seven sorrows, do not forget to give him this letter, which contains my last farewell! I am so unhappy at not being able to see him!"
"Yes, Linda mia, I will," replied the murderer, carrying his hand to his eyes, and trying to give his voice a pathetic tone. "I have as feeling a heart as you; and had not this d—d Panchito been always thwarting me, I should not have been here, I swear; but keep up your spirits, preciosita de mi alma."
A piece of money which the sporting character threw to the prisoner cut short his eloquent speech; the soldiers surrounded him, and they resumed their march to the prison. The procession soon disappeared round a corner of the Ayuntamiento, while some women, with a delicacy peculiar to Mexican females, surrounded the young China, but were unable to persuade her to go home. In a short time, in spite of all their entreaties, I saw her walk to the prison, seat herself at the foot of its dark wall, and, veiling her face with her rebozo, remain there immovable. My friend of the bull-fights was lost in the crowd, and I had now a fitting opportunity for consulting the evangelist. I stepped up to the old man, and tapped him gently on the shoulder.
"Can you tell me," said I, "where the licentiate Don Tadeo Cristobal lives?"
"Don Tadeo Cristobal, do you say? He was here a minute ago."