A Nocturnal Sortie.
From that day, each return of twilight’s gentle hour saw me in the Calle del Obispo. The sun was not more certain to set behind the snow-crowned Cordilleras, than I to traverse the street where dwelt Mercedes Villa-Señor.
Her name and condition had been easily ascertained. Any stray passenger encountered in the street could tell, who lived in the grand casa with the frescoed front.
“Don Eusebio Villa-Señor—un rico—with two daughters, muchachas muy lindas!” was the reply of him, to whom I addressed the inquiry.
I was further informed, that Don Eusebio was of Spanish descent, though a Mexican by birth; that in the veins of his daughters flowed only the Andalusian blood—the pure sangre azul. His was one of the familias principales of Puebla.
There was nothing in this knowledge to check my incipient admiration of Don Eusebio’s daughter. Quite the contrary.
As I had predicted, I was soon in the vortex of an impetuous passion; and without ever having spoken to her who inspired it!
There was no chance to hold converse with her. We were permitted no correspondence with the familias principales, beyond the dry formalities which occasionally occurred in official intercourse. But this was confined to the men. The señoritas were closely kept within doors, and as jealously concealed from us as if every house had been a harem.
My admiration was too earnest to be restrained by such trifling obstructions; and I succeeded in obtaining an occasional, though distant, view of her who had so interested me.
My glances—given with all the fervour of a persistent passion—with all its audacity—could scarce be misconstrued.