“Café, Señores?” A servant entered.
Coffee was handed round in cups of Sèvres china.
“You smoke, gentlemen? Would you prefer a Havanna? Here are some sent me from Cuba by a friend. I believe they are good; or, if you would amuse yourself with a cigaritto, here are Campeacheanos. These are the country cigars—puros, as we call them. I would not recommend them.”
“A Havanna for me,” said the major, helping himself at the same time to a fine-looking “regalia.”
I had fallen into a somewhat painful reverie.
I began to fear that, with all his hospitality, the Mexican would allow us to depart without an introduction to his family; and I had conceived a strong desire to speak with the two lovely beings whom I had already seen, but more particularly with the brunette, whose looks and actions had deeply impressed me. So strange is the mystery of love! My heart had already made its choice.
I was suddenly aroused by the voice of Don Cosmé, who had risen, and was inviting myself and comrades to join the ladies in the drawing-room.
I started up so suddenly as almost to overturn one of the tables.
“Why, Captain, what’s the matter!” said Clayley. “Don Cosmé is about to introduce us to the ladies. You’re not going to back out?”
“Certainly not,” stammered I, somewhat ashamed at my gaucherie.