There was a sudden glance, accompanied by the bristling of a fan, as the maternal hen ruffles her feathers when the shadow of the hawk is seen sailing towards her chicks.
Only for an instant was I the object of aunt Josefa’s suspicion. My meek look, directed towards the “White Sister,” at once reassured her. I was not the bird of prey she had been cautioned to keep guard against: and, after a cursory glance at me, she went on after her pair of protégés.
I did likewise.
Though they were dressed exactly in the same style—wearing black lace shawls, with high combs holding them above their heads—though their figures were scarce to be distinguished in height, shape, or tournure—though the backs of both were toward me—I could tell my chosen at a glance.
There is something in the physical form—less in its muscular development than its motion—in the play of the arms and limbs—that proclaims the spirit within. It is that unmistakeable, and yet undefinable essence we term grace; which Nature alone can give, and Art cannot acquire. It is a quality of the soul; and not belonging to the body—to the adornment of which it but lends itself.
It proclaimed itself in every movement of Mercedes Villa-Señor—in her step, her carriage, the raising of her hand, the serpentine undulation perceptible throughout her whole frame. Every gesture made was a living illustration of Hogarth’s line.
Grace was not denied to Dolores; though to her given in a lesser degree. There was a sprightliness about her movements that many might have admired; but which in my mind but poorly compared with the grand, queen-like, air that characterised the step of her sister.
I soon became aware that they were on their way to the Cathedral—whose matin bells were filling the streets with their clangour. Other intended devotees—most of them women, in shawls and rebosos—were hastening across the Piazza Mayor, in the same direction.
Dolores alone looked round. Several times she did so—turning again towards the Cathedral with an air of evident dissatisfaction.
Her seeing me made not the slightest difference—a stranger accidentally walking the same way.