Ten minutes more, and we stood behind the maguey.
Parting its spinous leaves, and passing in between them, we obtained the desired standpoint.
As I have said, the music had ceased, as also the conversation and laughter. All three had been hushed for some time—having come to a stop while we were skulking among the rhododendrons.
We supposed at first, that supper had been announced to the company in the sala grande, and we might soon see them in the sala de comida.
Although the preparations did not appear complete, we should have stayed to await the going in of the guests—but for what we heard from the other apartment.
The sounds of merriment, abruptly brought to an end, had been succeeded by the solitary voice. It was that of a man, who appeared to speak in slow measured tones—as if addressing himself to an audience.
We could hear him all the time we were changing place; and his harangue was still going on, as we came into cover among the fronds of the pulque plant.
The first glance through these explained everything—why the music had ceased, and the laughter been restrained.
Inside the sala a ceremony was progressing, that, under the circumstances, might well be termed solemn. It was the ceremonial of a marriage!
A monk, whose robe of bluish grey proclaimed him of the order of San Francisco, was standing near the middle of the floor. I mention him first, as he was the first to come under my eye.