"Oh!" he muttered, as he pulled up before the house he occupied in the Calle de Tacuba; "In spite of heaven and hell I will succeed."
What was the meaning of these sinister words which seem to contain the result of his long meditation?
[CHAPTER XIII.]
THE CONVENTION BONDS.
Reddish tints were striping the snowy peaks of the Popocatepetl, the last stars were expiring in the heavens, and opaline gleams were tinting the summit of the buildings; day was just beginning to break. Mexico was still sleeping; its silent streets were only disturbed at long intervals by the hurried footfalls of a few Indians arriving from the neighbouring pueblos to sell their fruit and vegetables. A few pulqueros' shops alone timidly set their doors ajar, and were preparing to serve to the early customers the dose of strong liquor, that obligado prologue of every day's work. Half past four struck from the sagrario; at this moment a horseman emerged from the Calle de Tacuba, crossed the Plaza Mayor at a sharp trot, and pulled up right in front of the gates of the palace of the presidency, which were guarded by two sentries.
"Who goes there?" one of them shouted.
"A friend," the horseman replied.
"Pass, friend."
"Certainly not," the horseman answered, "for I have business here."