She waved another farewell, and turned again to the reception room. "I win provinces," she thought, "yet I am alone, alone. People crowd around me, yet am I lonely. I envy the peona we met this morning. I envy her the brood of pocos niños, her absent husband, and, above all, God of my soul! her contentment. If the world were mine I would give it for that!"
She went slowly to her room and closed the door, then turned to the mirror. It showed the faultless face and form of a beautiful woman. "It is all to win provinces!—nothing but—provinces."
She remained long in thought.
"Nothing but provinces!"
CHAPTER XVI
THE SEÑORITA OF THE WINDOW PANE
The fog lifted from Monterey Bay, for a few fleeting moments hung in aerial battlements over land and water, then dissolved in the alchemic sun-rays. The blue stretches of water laughed and sang on the beach. Soft southern winds purred among the crags which edged the ocean, rustled the tree branches, waved the flowers, rested on the tiled roofs of the white city, and fanned the calm-souled populace.
Another day had begun in the capital.
It was some minor feast day. The bells of the church on the town outskirts rang their call to service. A moment's silence. In the distance a clear note sounded, its limpid melody clinging in the air. Another note, and yet another, and another, until the breath of the countryside was resonant. It was the chimes of San Carlos Carmelo, a league away.
A young officer rode slowly along El Camino Real leading into Monterey from the north. A dozen or more mounted carbineers followed him.