Story 1, Chapter V.
An Unpleasant Misunderstanding.
Yes, fair as the mother of men—it is no exaggeration to say it—was she who, answering my summons, had emerged from the shadowy chapparal, and now stood exposed to my view under the full light of the moon. It was a full moon—a Mexican moon, that delights to shine upon lovely woman; and no lovelier could its beams have ever embraced than she who now stood before me.
It was beauty of a type peculiar to the land in which I viewed it—peculiar even to a single province—the tierra caliente, or coast-region, of Vera Cruz.
The image of Lola is still upon the tablets of my memory, permanently impressed as I saw her at that moment; perhaps more deeply graven upon my heart as I beheld her afterwards.
The picture presented to my eye, and viewed under the moon’s mellow light, was that of a girl just approaching the completeness of womanhood—or rather having completed it, for there seemed nothing wanting to make the perfect woman.
A figure of medium height, neither sylphlike nor slender, but of full physical outline, in points even imposing.
I do not deny that there is something sensual in this type, and I know there are those who incline more to the intellectual. For my part, I doubt the honesty of such ethereal admirers; and must still cling to the belief that bold elliptical outline is the true ideal of beauty in the feminine form.