The beautiful Jarocha was gone from my sight!
“Shall I ever see her again?”
This was the interrogatory that came uppermost in my thoughts—not the less painful from my having perceived that she had lingered to look back.
Would she have preferred the road to Jalapa?
Whether or not, I had the vanity to think so.
Gone, without leaving me either promise or souvenir—only the remembrance of her voluptuous beauty—destined long to dwell within the shrine of my heart.
“Shall I ever see her again?”
Once—twice—thrice—involuntarily did I repeat the self-interrogation.
“Perhaps never!” was each time the equally involuntary reply.
In truth, the chances of my again meeting with her were very slight. To this conclusion came I, after a calm survey of the circumstances surrounding me. True, I had obtained the name of her native village—El Lagarto—and had registered a mental resolve to visit it.