The full moon had risen. The white house stood clearly out in its radiance. The lattices were wide open and the parlor lighted. They walked slowly towards it, between hedges of white camelias and scarlet japonicas. Vanilla, patchuli, verbena, wild wandering honeysuckle--a hundred other scents--perfumed the light, warm air. As they came near the house there was a sound of music, soft and tinkling, with a rhythmic accent as pulsating as a beating heart.
"It is Don Luis, father."
"Ah! He plays well--and he looks well."
They had advanced to where Don Luis was distinctly visible.
He was within the room, but leaning against the open door, playing upon a mandolin. Robert Worth smiled as he offered his hand to him. It was impossible not to smile at a youth so handsome, and so charming--a youth who had all the romance of the past in his name, his home, his picturesque costume; and all the enchantments of hope and great enthusiasms in his future.
"Luis, I am glad to see you; and I felt your music as soon as I heard it."
He was glancing inquiringly around the room as he spoke; and Antonia answered the look:
"Mother and Isabel are supping with Dona Valdez. There is to be a dance. I am waiting for you, father. You must put on your velvet vest."
"And you, Luis?"
"I do not go. I asked the judge for the appointment. He refused me. Very well! I care not to drink chocolate and dance in his house. One hand washes the other, and one cousin should help another."
"Why did he refuse you?"
"Who can tell?" but Luis shrugged his shoulders expressively, and added, "He gave the office to Blas-Sangre."
"Ah!"
"Yes, it is so--naturally;--Blas-Sangre is rich, and when the devil of money condescends to appear, every little devil rises up to do him homage."
"Let it pass, Luis. Suppose you sing me that last verse again. It had a taking charm. The music was like a boat rocking on the water."
"So it ought to be. I learned the words in New Orleans. The music came from the heart of my mandolin. Listen, Senor!
"`Row young oarsman, row, young oarsman, Into the crypt of the night we float:
Fair, faint moonbeams wash and wander, Wash and wander about the boat.
Not a fetter is here to bind us, Love and memory lose their spell;
Friends that we have left behind us, Prisoners of content,--farewell!'"
"You are a wizard, Luis, and I have had a sail with you.
Now, come with us, and show those dandy soldiers from the Alamo how to dance."
"Pardon! I have not yet ceased to cross myself at the affront of this morning. And the Senora Valdez is in the same mind as her husband. I should be received by her like a dog at mass.
I am going to-morrow to the American colony on the Colorado."
"Be careful, Luis. These Austin colonists are giving great trouble--there have been whispers of very strong measures. I speak as a friend."
"My heart to yours! But let me tell you this about the Americans--their drum is in the hands of one who knows how to beat it."
"As a matter of hearsay, are you aware that three detachments of troops are on their way from Mexico?"
"For Texas?"
"For Texas."
"What are three detachments? Can a few thousand men put Texas under lock and key? I assure you not, Senor; but now I must say adieu!
He took the doctor's hand, and, as he held it, turned his luminous face and splendid eyes upon Antonia. A sympathetic smile brightened her own face like a flame. Then he went silently away, and Antonia watched him disappear among the shrubbery.
"Come, Antonia! I am ready. We must not keep the Senora waiting too long."
"I am ready also, father." Her voice was almost sad, and yet it had a tone of annoyance in it--"Don Luis is so imprudent," she said. "He is always in trouble. He is full of enthusiasms; he is as impossible as his favorite, Don Quixote."
"And I thank God, Antonia, that I can yet feel with him. Woe to the centuries without Quixotes! Nothing will remain to them but--Sancho Panzas."
