The Splendid Idle Forties | Page 5

but only a faint
pink lay in her white cheeks; the nose curved at bridge and nostrils.
About her low shoulders she held a blue reboso, the finger-tips of each
slim hand resting on the opposite elbow. She held her head a little back,
and Pio Pico laughed as he looked at her.
"Dios!" he said, "but thou might be an Estenega or an Iturbi y Moncada.
Surely that lofty head better suits old Spain than the republic of Mexico.
Draw the reboso about thy head now, and let us go down. They expect
thee."
She lifted the scarf above her hair, and walked down the steep rutted
hill with the Governor, her flowered gown floating with a silken rustle
about her. In a few moments she was listening to the tale of the races.
"Ay, Ysabel! Dios de mi alma! What a day! A young señor from Los
Angeles won the race--almost all the races--the Señor Don Vicente de
la Vega y Arillaga. He has never been here, before. His horses! Madre
de Dios! They ran like hares. Poor Guido! Válgame Dios! Even thou
wouldst have been moved to pity. But he is so handsome! Look! Look!
He comes now, side by side with General Castro. Dios! his serape is as
stiff with gold as the vestments of the padre."
Ysabel looked up as a man rode past. His bold profile and thin face
were passionate and severe; his dark blue eyes were full of power. Such
a face was rare among the languid shallow men of her race.
"He rides with General Castro," whispered Benicia Ortega. "He stays
with him. We shall see him at the ball to-night."
As Don Vicente passed Ysabel their eyes met for a moment. His
opened suddenly with a bold eager flash, his arched nostrils twitching.
The colour left her face, and her eyes dropped heavily.

Love needed no kindling in the heart of the Californian.
II
The people of Monterey danced every night of their lives, and went
nowhere so promptly as to the great sala of Doña Modeste Castro, their
leader of fashion, whose gowns were made for her in the city of
Mexico.
Ysabel envied her bitterly. Not because the Doña Modeste's skin was
whiter than her own, for it could not be, nor her eyes greener, for they
were not; but because her jewels were richer than Pio Pico's, and upon
all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls gleamed in her
storm-black hair. But one feminine compensation had Ysabel: she was
taller; Doña Modeste's slight elegant figure lacked Ysabel's graceful
inches, and perhaps she too felt a pang sometimes as the girl undulated
above her like a snake about to strike.
At the fashionable hour of ten Monterey was gathered for the dance.
All the men except the officers wore black velvet or broadcloth coats
and white trousers. All the women wore white, the waist long and
pointed, the skirt full. Ysabel's gown was of embroidered crêpe. Her
hair was coiled about her head, and held by a tortoise comb framed
with a narrow band of gold. Pio Pico, splendid with stars and crescents
and rings and pins, led her in, and with his unique ugliness enhanced
her beauty.
She glanced eagerly about the room whilst replying absently to the
caballeros who surrounded her. Don Vicente de la Vega was not there.
The thick circle about her parted, and General Castro bent over her
hand, begging the honour of the contradanza. She sighed, and for the
moment forgot the Southerner who had flashed and gone like the
beginning of a dream. Here was a man--the only man of her knowledge
whom she could have loved, and who would have found her those
pearls. Californians had so little ambition! Then she gave a light
audacious laugh. Governor Pico was shaking hands cordially with
General Castro, the man he hated best in California.

No two men could have contrasted more sharply than José Castro and
Pio Pico--with the exception of Alvarado the most famous men of their
country. The gold trimmings of the general's uniform were his only
jewels. His hair and beard--the latter worn _à la Basca_, a narrow strip
curving from upper lip to ear--were as black as Pio Pico's once had
been. The handsomest man in California, he had less consciousness
than the least of the caballeros. His deep gray eyes were luminous with
enthusiasm; his nose was sharp and bold; his firm sensitive mouth was
cut above a resolute chin. He looked what he was, the ardent patriot of
a doomed cause.
"Señorita," he said, as he led Ysabel out to the sweet monotonous
music of the contradanza, "did you see the caballero who rode with me
to-day?"
A red light rose to Ysabel's cheek. "Which one, commandante?