A little pang of chagrin accompanied this reflection.
I flung myself upon a seat, and endeavoured to assume an air of indifference, though I was far from feeling indifferent, and my eyes as before kept eagerly scanning the fair masters. Now and then, the tournure of an ankle—I had seen Isolina’s—or the elliptical sweep of a fine figure, inspired me with fresh hope: but as the mascaritas who owned them were near enough to have seen, and yet took no notice of me, I conjectured—in fact, hoped—that none of them was she. Indeed, a well-turned ankle is no distinctive mark among the fair doncellas of Mexico.
At length, a pair of unusually neat ones, supporting a figure of such superb outlines, that even the ungraceful domino could not conceal them, came under my eyes, and riveted my attention. My heart beat wildly as I gazed. I could not help the belief that the lady in the yellow domino was Isolina de Vargas.
She was waltzing with a young dragoon officer; and as they passed me I rose from my seat, and approached the orbit of the dance, in order to keep them under my eyes.
As they passed me a second time, I fancied the lady regarded me through her mask: I fancied I saw her start. I was almost sure it was Isolina!
My feeling was now that of jealousy. The young officer was one of the elegant gentlemen of the service—a professed lady killer—a fellow, who, notwithstanding his well-known deficiency of brains, was ever welcome among women. She seemed to press closely to him as they whirled around, while her head rested languishingly upon his shoulder. She appeared to be contented with her partner. I could scarcely endure the agony of my fancies. It was a relief to me when the music ceased and the waltz ended.
The circle broke up, and the waltzers scattered in different directions, but my eyes followed only the dragoon officer and his partner. He conducted her to a seat, and then placing himself by her side, the two appeared to engage in an earnest and interesting conversation.
With me politeness was now out of the question. I had grown as jealous as a tiger; and I drew near enough become a listener. The lowness of the tone in which conversed precluded the possibility of my hearing much of what was said, but I could make out that the spark was “coaxing” his partner to remove her mask. The voice that replied was surely Isolina’s!
I could myself have torn the silken screen from her face through very vexation; but I was saved that indiscretion, for the request of her cavalier seemed to prevail, and the next instant the mask was removed by the lady’s own hand.
Shade of Erebus! what did I see? She was black—a negress! Not black as ebony, but nearly so; with thick lips, high cheek-bones, and a row of short “kinky” curls dangling over the arch of her glistening forehead!