"Three thousand pesos d'oro," answered Carlos. "But by the Virgin, it was worth it!"
"Three thousand pesos d'oro!" ejaculated his auditors with one breath. Old Miguel dropped his glass which fell with a crash, scattering its contents and fragments over the floor.
"Three thousand pesos d'oro!" he gasped. "Alma de mi vida! Soul of my life! 'tis the salary of a Bishop! Are you mad, Carlos Moreno?"
"Perhaps. But only Carlos Moreno can afford to pay such salaries during the Fiesta," he answered complacently, taking a fresh sip of pulque.
"How did you ever persuade her to dance?" asked Pedro. "It's not the first time you have made overtures to her."
"Ah, that's the mystery! I'd give something to know why she danced. You know," he continued, "it's the first time she has ever appeared in public."
"The first time?" interrupted the Captain in surprise. "Why—she possesses the composure of a veteran of the footlights."
"Just so," rejoined Carlos. "Nothing is more characteristic of her; she's at home everywhere. When I first saw her dance three years ago in the garden of the old Posada at the birthday fête of Señora Fernandez, I knew instantly that she was either possessed of the devil or the ancient muse of dance; also, why Don Felipe Ramirez went mad over her.
"Dios! she's a strange woman—almost mysterious at times!" he added reflectively, with a shrug of the shoulders and gesture of the hands. "I thought, of course, that it was the money she wanted when she finally consented to dance, but I'm not so sure of it now."
"What reason have you for supposing otherwise?" asked Pedro.