He himself became engaged upon some charts—no doubt covered with “grand strategic plans:” for although we were in the enemy’s capital, it was not certain that our campaign had come to a close, and more fighting might be before us.
Left free to take my own course, I motioned the Mexican to a seat.
He declined it on the score of haste; and standing, I went on with his confession.
“How did it happen? When? Where?” was the series of questions I addressed to him in continuation.
“On the road, señor—as we came from La Puebla.”
“From Puebla!” The words startled me into a strange interest.
“Si, señor; but much nearer to this city. It occurred within sight of it, I may say—this side Rio Frio, and not far from the venta of Cordova.”
“You were travelling?”
“We were travelling—myself, my two daughters, and our family confessor, the good Padre Cornaga.”
“In your carriage?”