She was not of the fair-haired kind, so fashionable in late days; but dark, with deep dreamy eyes; a mass of black hair, surmounted by a large tortoise-shell comb; eyebrows so pretty as to appear painted; with a corresponding tracery upon the upper lip—the bigotite that tells of Andalusian stock, and descent from the children of the Cid.
While gazing upon her—no doubt rudely enough—I saw that she returned the glance. At first I thought kindly; but then with a serious air, as if resenting my rudeness. I would have given anything I possessed to appease her—the horse I was riding, or aught else. I would have given much for a flower to fling at her feet—knowing the effect of such little flatteries on the Mexican “muchacha;” but, unfortunately, there was no flower near.
In default of one, I bethought me of a substitute—my sword-knot!
The gold tassel was instantly detached from the guard, and fell into the balcony at her feet.
I did not see her take it up. The bugle at that moment sounded the advance; and I was forced to ride forward at the head of my troop.
On glancing back, as we turned out of the street, I saw that she was still outside; and fancied there was something glittering between her fingers in addition to the jewelled rings that encircled them.
I noted the name of the street. It was the Calle del Obispo.
In my heart I registered a vow: that, ere long, I should be back in the Calle del Obispo.
I was not slow in the fulfilment of that vow. The very next day, after being released from morning parade, I repaired to the place in which the fair apparition had made itself manifest.