Chapter Fifteen.
A Little Fair Weather again.
On re-entering the sala the picture of woe was again presented, but in an altered aspect. A change, sudden as the atmospheric one we had just witnessed, had taken place; and the scene of wild weeping was now succeeded by one of resignation and prayer.
On one side was Dona Joaquina, holding in her hands a golden rosary with its crucifix. The girls were kneeling in front of a picture—a portrait of Dolores with the fatal dagger; and the “Lady of Grief” looked not more sorrowful from the canvas than the beautiful devotees that bent before her.
With their heads slightly leaning, their arms crossed upon their swelling bosoms, and their long loose hair trailing upon the carpet, they formed a picture at once painful and prepossessing.
Not wishing to intrude upon this sacred sorrow, we made a motion to retire.
“No, Señores,” said Don Cosmé, interrupting us. “Be seated; let us talk calmly—let us know the worst.”
We then proceeded to inform Don Cosmé of the landing of the American troops and the manner in which our lines were drawn around the city, and pointed out to him the impossibility of anyone passing either in or out.
“There is still a hope, Don Cosmé,” said I, “and that, perhaps, rests with yourself.”