“Si señor—ciertamente!” responded the Poblano, who must have supposed me insane, “Dolores Villa-Señor; or Lola, if you prefer it short: that is the lady’s name. Carrambo! what is there strange about it? Every chiquitito in the streets of Puebla knows her.”
My tongue was stopped. I made no further inquiry. I had heard enough to tell me I had been chicaned.
She who had passed was the woman I loved—the same who had invited me to the Alameda. There could be no mistake about that, nor aught else—only that her name was Dolores, and not Mercedes!
I had been made the catspaw of a heartless coquette!
Chapter Twenty Four.
A Parting Glance at Puebla.
From that hour I felt that Puebla was no place for me. Any métier but that of the singed moth. I determined thenceforth to shun the candle that had cruelly scorched, and might only scorch me more.
Attractive as was the light that had lured me, I resolved never more to let my eyes look upon it. It had proved too resplendent. It would not be with my own will, if I should ever again see Dolores Villa-Señor.