While the Limanians paused and knelt at the sound of the angelus, a young girl, carefully surrounded by her discreet mantle, sought to pass through the praying multitude; she was followed by a mestizo woman, a sort of duenna, who watched every glance and step. The duenna, as if she had not understood the warning bell, continued her way through the devout populace: to the general surprise succeeded harsh epithets. The young girl would have stopped, but the duenna kept on.
"Do you see that daughter of Satan?" said some one near her.
"Who is that balarina—that impious dancer?"
"It is one of the Carcaman women." (A reproachful name bestowed upon Europeans.)
The young girl at last stopped, blushing and confused.
Suddenly a gaucho, a merchant of mules, seized her by the shoulder, and would have compelled her to kneel; but he had scarcely laid his hand upon her when a vigorous arm rudely felled him to the ground. This scene, rapid as lightning, was followed by a moment of confusion.
"Save yourself, miss," said a gentle and respectful voice in the ear of the young girl.
The latter turned, pale with terror, and saw a young Indian of tall stature, who, with his arms tranquilly folded, was awaiting with firm foot the attack of his adversary.
"We are lost!" exclaimed the duenna; "niña, niña, let us go, for the love of God!" and she seized the arm of the young girl, who disappeared, while the crowd rose and dispersed.
The gaucho had risen, bruised with his fall, and thinking it not prudent to seek revenge, rejoined his mules, muttering threats.