"Here they are, here they are! They are coming!"
"Who?" Valentine asked them, hardly able yet to put faith in such blessed news.
"El conde! El conde!"
"He will be here in an hour at the latest," said Don Antonio.
"Perhaps before," the colonel backed him up. "We are going to meet him."
"And I, too," Valentine exclaimed.
They went out. The news had spread with the rapidity of a powder train. Guaymas took a holiday. Immediately, before any orders were given by the authorities, the houses were hung with flags; for, as it happened, Corpus Christi would be celebrated a few days later, and the banners had been got in readiness.
The inhabitants, dressed in their best clothes, the Hiaqui Indians, of whom a great number let themselves out to private persons as workmen and servants—in a word, everybody, hurried and ran toward the beach, shouting, laughing, singing, and uttering interminable hurrahs. It was really a curious sight,—this crowd, hastening joyously to meet a few Frenchmen, whose good intentions toward them they instinctively guessed.
The authorities of the town followed the popular movement; but it was easy to read that they did not act from their own will, but were carried onward by the current of public opinion.
When Valentine and the two men who had constituted themselves his companions reached the beach, it was already invaded by the whole population. A few cable's lengths from shore the ship that brought the French might be distinctly seen. It advanced majestically, impelled by a strong breeze. It had its top-gallant sails set, and its lower sails clewed up, which allowed a large crowd to be seen on the poop. When the vessel had passed a little beyond Venado Island—the usual anchorage of large ships—it tacked, and sent down top-sails; then the anchor was let go, and the main jib lowered.