“Are we likely to be well received there?” further asked Don Cornelio.
“Ah!” replied the second horseman, “that depends—”
The muttered voice, and the distance which he had already gained, hindered Don Cornelio from perceiving the tone of irony in which he spoke; but almost at the same instant the speaker elevated his voice to a high pitch, though only the last words were heard with distinctness.
These were, “Mejico e independencia.”
The phrase was well-known to Don Cornelio.
“What word came before it?” inquired he of his companion; “viva, was it not?”
“No, it was muera,” replied the negro.
“You are mistaken, I think, Clara.”
“No, I repeat it,—it was muera!”
Not having inquired from the horsemen whether San Carlos was in the power of the royalists or insurgents, Don Cornelio remained as undecided upon that point as ever.