“No, Señorita;—ay de mi! how could I in that disguise?”
“Disguise do you call it? Why, it is the usual costume!”
“True, Señorita; but not for a grand señora like you. Carrambo!”
“Well, I think I must be disguised, as I passed several acquaintances who would not bow to me! Ha! ha!”
“Pobrecita—ita—ita!” continued she, suddenly changing her tone, and regarding Josefa’s companion with a look of kind sympathy. “How she must have suffered! Poor dear girl! I fear it is true what they have told me. Santisima Virgen! how like—”
The phrase was left unfinished. The speaker had forgotten the presence of Josefa and the peon, and was delivering her thoughts in too loud a soliloquy. The unfinished sentence had involuntarily escaped from her lips.
Suddenly checking herself, she looked sharply towards the two. The peon was busy with his oxen, but the poblana’s face wore an expression of curiosity.
“Like whom, Señorita?” innocently inquired she.
“One whom I know. No matter, Josefa.” And, as the lady said this, she raised her finger to her lips, and looked significantly towards the peon.
Josefa, who knew her secret, and who guessed the “one” meant, remained silent. After a moment the lady drew her mustang nearer the carreta, upon the side on which Josefa sat, and, bending over, whispered to the latter:—