“Bueno!” he mentally exclaimed, then muttering to the others—“Yonder it comes! Frisones pardes coachman in sky-blue and silver—be ready camarados.”
And ready they were, as panthers preparing to spring. Rock and Rivas, as Kearney himself, were now out of the sewer and up on the street; all three still making believe to work; while the dwarf seemed to suspect there was something in the wind, but could not guess what.
He knew the instant after, when a strong hand, grasping him by the collar, lifted him off his feet, raising and tossing him further aloft, as though he had been but a rat.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Clumsy Cochero.
Perhaps no people in the world have been more accustomed to spectacular surprises than they who perambulate the streets of the Mexican metropolis. For the half-century preceding the time of which I write, they had witnessed almost as many revolutions as years, seen blood spilled till the stones ran red with it, and dead bodies lying before their doors often for hours, even days, unremoved. As a consequence, they are less prone to curiosity than the dwellers in European cities, and the spectacle or incident that will stir their interest in any great degree must needs be of an uncommon kind.
Rare enough was that they were called on to witness now—such of them as chanced to be sauntering along the Callé de Plateros, where the chain-gang was at work. They first saw a carriage—a handsome equipage of the landau speciality—drawn by a pair of showy horses, and driven by a coachman in smart livery, his hat cockaded, proclaiming the owner of the turnout as belonging to the military or diplomatic service. Only ladies, however, were in it—two of them—and the horses proceeding at a rather leisurely pace. As several other carriages with ladies in them, and liveried coachmen on the boxes, had passed before, and some seen coming behind, there was nothing about this one to attract particular attention; unless, indeed, the beauty of the two “señoritas” inside, which was certainly exceptional. Both were young, and, if related, not likely to be sisters; in contour of features, complexion, colour of eyes and hair, everything different, even to contrast. But alike in that each after her own style was a picture of feminine loveliness of the most piquantly attractive kind; while their juxtaposition made it all the more so, for they were seated side by side.
Such could not fail to draw the eyes of the street passengers upon them, and elicit looks of admiration. So far from courting this, however, they seemed desirous of shunning it. The day was one of the finest, the atmosphere deliciously enjoyable, neither too warm nor too cold; other carriages were open, yet the hoods of theirs met overhead, and the glasses were up. Still, as these were not curtained they could be seen through them. Some saw who knew them, and saluted; gentlemen by raising the hat, lady acquaintances by a nod, a quivering of the fingers. For it was the hour of promenade to the Alameda. Others to whom they were unknown inquired whose carriage it was. But not a few noticed in the faces of its fair occupants an expression which struck them as singular; something of constraint or anxiety—the last so unlike what should have been there.