“Poh! poh! loved me too much; and that I can’t bear. I would rather too little if anything.”
“Perhaps this blonde may please you better in that respect. But, see! they are off!”
As Roblado spoke, Carlos and his sister had moved forward to the carreta which held their aged mother, and were soon in conversation with her.
The Comandante and his captain, as well as a large number of the spectators, followed, and crowded around to listen.
“She wants to persuade me against it, mother,” Carlos was heard to say. He had already communicated his design. “Without your consent, I will not. But hear me, dear mother; I have half pledged myself, and I wish to make good my pledge. It is a point of honour, mother.”
The last phrase was spoken loudly and emphatically in the ear of the old woman, who appeared to be a little deaf.
“Who wants to dissuade you?” she asked, raising her head, and glancing upon the circle of faces. “Who?”
“Rosita, mother.”
“Let Rosita to her loom, and weave rebosos—that’s what she’s fit for. You, my son, can do great things—deeds, ay, deeds; else have you not in your veins the blood of your father. He did deeds—he—ha! ha! ha!”
The strange laugh caused the spectators to start, accompanied, as it was, with the wild look of her who uttered it.