Maruja | Page 4

Bret Harte
fresco seclusion, a vast
colonnade of veranda on the southern side was a concession to
American taste, and its breadth gave that depth of shadow to the inner
rooms which had been lost in the thinner shell of the new erection. Its
cloistered gloom was lightened by the red fires of cardinal flowers
dropping from the roof, by the yellow sunshine of the jessamine
creeping up the columns, by billows of heliotropes breaking over its
base as a purple sea. Nowhere else did the opulence of this climate of
blossoms show itself as vividly. Even the Castilian roses, that grew as
vines along the east front, the fuchsias, that attained the dignity of trees,
in the patio, or the four or five monster passion-vines that bestarred the
low western wall, and told over and over again their mystic
story--paled before the sensuous glory of the south veranda.
As the sun arose, that part of the quiet house first touched by its light
seemed to waken. A few lounging peons and servants made their
appearance at the entrance of the patio, occasionally reinforced by an
earlier life from the gardens and stables. But the south facade of the
building had not apparently gone to bed at all: lights were still burning
dimly in the large ball-room; a tray with glasses stood upon the veranda
near one of the open French windows, and further on, a half-shut
yellow fan lay like a fallen leaf. The sound of carriage-wheels on the
gravel terrace brought with it voices and laughter and the swiftly
passing vision of a char-a-bancs filled with muffled figures bending
low to avoid the direct advances of the sun.
As the carriage rolled away, four men lounged out of a window on the
veranda, shading their eyes against the level beams. One was still in
evening dress, and one in the uniform of a captain of artillery; the

others had already changed their gala attire, the elder of the party
having assumed those extravagant tweeds which the tourist from Great
Britain usually offers as a gentle concession to inferior yet more florid
civilization. Nevertheless, he beamed back heartily on the sun, and
remarked, in a pleasant Scotch accent, that: Did they know it was very
extraordinary how clear the morning was, so free from clouds and mist
and fog? The young man in evening dress fluently agreed to the facts,
and suggested, in idiomatic French-English, that one comprehended
that the bed was an insult to one's higher nature and an ingratitude to
their gracious hostess, who had spread out this lovely garden and walks
for their pleasure; that nothing was more beautiful than the dew
sparkling on the rose, or the matin song of the little birds.
The other young man here felt called upon to point out the fact that
there was no dew in California, and that the birds did not sing in that
part of the country. The foreign young gentleman received this
statement with pain and astonishment as to the fact, with passionate
remorse as to his own ignorance. But still, as it was a charming day,
would not his gallant friend, the Captain here, accept the challenge of
the brave Englishman, and "walk him" for the glory of his flag and a
thousand pounds?
The gallant Captain, unfortunately, believed that if he walked out in his
uniform he would suffer some delay from being interrogated by
wayfarers as to the locality of the circus he would be pleasantly
supposed to represent, even if he escaped being shot as a rare California
bird by the foreign sporting contingent. In these circumstances, he
would simply lounge around the house until his carriage was ready.
Much as it pained him to withdraw from such amusing companions, the
foreign young gentleman here felt that he, too, would retire for the
present to change his garments, and glided back through the window at
the same moment that the young officer carelessly stepped from the
veranda and lounged towards the shrubbery.
"They've been watching each other for the last hour. I wonder what's
up?" said the young man who remained.

The remark, without being confidential, was so clearly the first
sentence of natural conversation that the Scotchman, although relieved,
said, "Eh, man?" a little cautiously.
"It's as clear as this sunshine that Captain Carroll and Garnier are each
particularly anxious to know what the other is doing or intends to do
this morning."
"Why did they separate, then?" asked the other.
"That's a mere blind. Garnier's looking through his window now at
Carroll, and Carroll is aware of it."
"Eh!" said the Scotchman, with good-humored curiosity. "Is it a quarrel?
Nothing serious, I hope. No revolvers and bowie-knives, man, before
breakfast, eh?"
"No," laughed the younger man. "No! To do Maruja justice, she
generally
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