I felt no chagrin at her indifference. I divined the cause of it. I was not “Querido Francisco.”
Mercedes appeared to be uninterested in aught that was passing around. Her air was that of one a little “out of sorts”—as was shown by the cold salutations she exchanged with the “caballeros” encountered upon the way, and who one and all seemed to court a more cordial “buenas dias.”
Only once did she show sign of being interested:—when an American officer in the uniform of the Mounted Rifles came galloping along the street. Then only during the six seconds spent in scrutinising him, as he swept past; after which her eyes once more turned towards the Cathedral.
Its massive door stood open to admit the early devotees, who were by this time swarming up the steps.
The sisters became part of the throng, and passed on inside—Tia Josefa closely following, and keeping up her espionage with as much strictness, as while passing along the streets!
I did the same—with a different intent.