"It is I—Lillie Moulton," I said, quietly.
"You! you! No, it can't be possible!" And he took hold of my hands as if to see if they were flesh and blood. "Where did you come from? How did you get here? What brought you here?" followed in quick succession. The others pushed aside the curtain and came in. Then followed explanations. I was obliged to answer thousands of questions, and go into thousands of details, concerning the family, Paris, the war, and so forth. He ordered champagne, improvised a little supper for us, and did not seem to be able to do enough to show his delight at seeing me. But the Captain of the Port soon reminded us that it was time to be on our way back to Matanzas, as it was a long drive, and I bade a tearful farewell to lonely Jules. Our comet-like visit must have seemed to him like a vision, and he watched us, with eyes full of tears, drive away out of his life. Poor Jules!
MATANZAS, CUBA.
We spent the following morning in driving about the city. At half-past two crossed the ferry to Yuanana-bocca, where we found the amiable director and the rest of the party. The cars, with their cane-bottomed seats, were cool. The scenery was exquisite. On both sides of the road were real jungles of tropical growth, with the purple mountains as a background. We passed many ingenios (plantations), with their tall, smoking chimneys, all in full blast.
On reaching our destination we were met by volantes and saddle-horses. The former were for the ladies, the latter for the gentlemen of the party, and we made our way through the narrow, dirty streets, passed the walls of the city, and came out on to the beautiful road, where a gang of chained prisoners were breaking stones.
We passed many villas and well-kept gardens, and arrived at the bottom of the hill, where we were obliged to get out and walk, for the roads became impassable. It was a stiff climb; but when we reached the summit we were rewarded by a most magnificent view. We descended and reached the volantes, the drivers whipped up their horses, and away we went over rocks and ruts, but feeling nothing of them. That is the charm of a volante; only the wheels, which are behind you, get the jerks and jolts.
After a half-hour's drive we reached the famous cave, Laura and I were supplied with garments looking like mackintoshes, and, provided with torches, we began to descend. We first came to a large, vaulted hall, where miles of stalactites in every form and shape twinkled in the light of the torches.
We had to crawl through a small opening to get into another vaulted room which boasted of an echo. The guide struck a note and I sang a cadenza, which resounded like a thousand voices.
There never could have been a thermometer made that could register such heat as we felt here; the air was frightfully oppressive and almost intolerable.
They pointed out the Pope's Miter, the Virgin's Veil, the Altar, the Boat —all looking about as much like their names as an apple looks like a pack of cards. After being shown the lake I begged for fresh air, and we mounted the steep wooden stairs. The hot air outside seemed like a wintry breeze when we came into it, and we were told that we must cool off before venturing into the hot sun. Then we volanted back to Matanzas.