Between the thought of this and the need to scan the scores of approaching ladies, I was not in a favorable frame of mind to appreciate the grandeur and beauty of the Parroquia. Yet so splendid were the two pillared towers, which reared against the sapphire sky a full hundred feet above the front corners of the high edifice, and so ornate was the white stone façade with its carvings and numerous statues of saints, that even my brief and preoccupied glances brought me a strong consciousness of the church's magnificence. I even looked twice at the carvings of the great round-arched entrance, so different in design from the pointed style of our Gothic ecclesiastical architecture.
That was as far as my observations went at the time, for as I again glanced out, I saw approaching among the throng of Moorishly draped figures one so tall and graceful that I knew her on the instant. I sprang from the entrance to meet her, but checked myself at the thought that it would be as well first to see who it was that accompanied her.
Alisanda wore her black lace mantilla, her companion a rebozo of finest silk, and both walked with heads reverently bowed. Yet I needed no second glance to feel assured that the duenna had not so portly a figure as that of Señora Vallois. If not Doña Marguerite, who then?
I was not long kept waiting for my answer. Standing with my stiff hat in hand, I looked eagerly for a sign of recognition from my lady. She did not so much as raise her head. But her companion straightened a little and parted a fold of her rebozo to bestow on me the mischievous flash of a sparkling eye. It was hardly the glance of an instant, yet it left me pleased and wondering why I had not at once recognized that plump, petite figure. The duenna I had so feared was none other than the wife of my friend Malgares, Doña Dolores. What was more, her look gave me the impression that she knew all, and, with the national love of intrigue, if not because of friendship for Alisanda, would aid us in our plans.
Vastly relieved at this discovery, I followed them at a respectful distance into the lofty domed interior of the Parroquia. As my eyes were fixed upon my lady, that I might not lose her in the throng which moved up the centre of the stone-flagged nave, I gathered at first only the vaguest of impressions with regard to the church's interior. But when she and Doña Dolores piously knelt upon the hard flagstones, in the midst of the peon women and the filthy beggars, I could not resist the impulse to look up and around.
At once, in place of the vague impression of magnificence, there burst upon my vision a glory of ornamentation almost dazzling. In all the Republic we have no church or other edifice to approach the Parroquia of Chihuahua in richness and splendor of ornamentation. The windows were filled with pictures of saints and angels wrought in stained glass, which cast over all a rich coloring well in keeping with the gold-and-silver-bedecked altar, the brass screens and railings, the silver candelabra, and the brightly colored and gilded images and pictures and crucifixes on the walls.
Add to this splendor of decoration the rich vestments of the officiating priests, the incense and wax tapers, and the solemn service of music and prayer,—and the effect was one to impress the most frivolous of believers in the Romish faith.
Yet as I stood beside one of the carved pillars and watched the devout bendings and prayers of Alisanda, I could not but compare her real worship with the formal movements and parrot-like invocations of those about her. Her religion was of the heart; theirs mere outward display. So at least I surmised from the manner in which, between times, they whispered and nibbled at dulces, and stared about at one another. Of course Alisanda and her friend were not alone in their real devotion, but I speak of the crowd.
I followed the service as closely as the different accenting and pronunciation of the Latin by Spanish tongues permitted. In justice to Alisanda, it was my duty to learn all I could with regard to her religion. I felt an added interest from the fact that the foremost of the priests was none other than Father Rocus.
Yet the closing of the ceremonies came as a vast relief to me. When for the last time the congregation crossed themselves and rose to leave, I leaned against my pillar and watched them pass out with as idle and careless a gaze as I could assume. All the time I kept the mantilla upon Alisanda's gracefully bowed head within the rim of my circle of vision. But I was certain she never once cast a glance in my direction, nor did Doña Dolores.