Presently they made a turning and could see the pueblo in the distance—the plaza, and the church with its high cross on one side of it, and the inn and storehouses, and a few residences of the more pretentious sort, like Don Diego’s, and the scattered huts of natives and poor folk.
The carreta stopped before Don Diego’s door, and servants rushed out to make the guests welcome, spreading a carpet from the carreta to the doorway, that the ladies would not have to step in the dust. Don Carlos led the way into the house, after ordering that the horse and mules be cared for and the carreta put away, and there they rested for a time, and the servants brought out wine and food.
They went through the rich house then, and even the eyes of Doña Catalina, who had seen many rich houses, widened at what she saw here in Don Diego’s home.
“To think that our daughter can be mistress of all this when she speaks the word!” she gasped.
Señorita Lolita said nothing, but she began thinking that perhaps it would not be so bad after all to become the wife of Don Diego. She was fighting a mental battle, was Señorita Lolita. On the one side was wealth and position, and the safety and good fortune of her parents—and a lifeless man for husband; and on the other side was the romance and ideal love she craved. Until the last hope was gone she could not give the latter up.
Don Carlos left the house and crossed the plaza to the inn, where he met several gentlemen of age, and renewed acquaintance with them, albeit he noticed that none was enthusiastic in his greeting. They feared, he supposed, to appear openly friendly to him, since he was in the bad graces of the governor.
“You are in the pueblo on business?” one asked.
“Not so, señor,” Don Carlos replied, and gladly, since here was a chance to set himself right in part. “This Señor Zorro is abroad, and the soldiers after him.”
“We are aware of that.”
“There may be a battle, or a series of raids, since it is whispered that now Señor Zorro has a band of cutthroats with him, and my hacienda is off by itself and would be at the mercy of the thief.”
“Ah! And so you bring your family to the pueblo until the matter is at an end?”
“I had not thought of doing so, but this morning Don Diego Vega sent out to me a request that I bring my family here and make use of his house for the time being. Don Diego has gone to his hacienda, but will return within a short time.”
The eyes of those who heard opened a bit at that, but Don Carlos pretended not to notice, and went on sipping his wine.
“Don Diego was out to visit me yesterday morning,” he continued. “We renewed old times. And my hacienda had a visit from this Señor Zorro last night, as doubtless you have heard, and Don Diego, learning of it, galloped out again, fearing we had met with disaster.”
“Twice in one day!” gasped one of those who heard.
“I have said it, señor.”
“You—that is—your daughter is very beautiful, is she not, Don Carlos Pulido? And seventeen, is she not—about?”
“Eighteen, señor. She is called beautiful, I believe,” Don Carlos admitted.
Those around him glanced at one another. They had the solution now. Don Diego Vega was seeking to wed Señorita Lolita Pulido. That meant that Pulido’s fortunes would soon be at the flood again, and that he might feel called upon to remember his friends and look askance at those who had not stood by him.
So now they crowded forward, alert to do him honor, and asked concerning crops and the increase of his herds and flocks, and whether the bees were doing as well as usual, and did he think the olives were excellent this year.
Don Carlos appeared to take it all as a matter of course. He accepted the wine they bought and purchased himself, and the fat landlord darted about doing their bidding and trying to compute the day’s profits in his head, which was a hopeless task for him.
When Don Carlos left the inn at dusk, several of them followed him to the door, and two of the more influential walked with him across the plaza to the door of Don Diego’s house. One of these begged that Don Carlos and his wife visit his house that evening for music and talk, and Don Carlos graciously accepted the invitation.
Doña Catalina had been watching from a window, and her face was beaming when she met her husband at the door.
“Everything goes well,” he said. “They have met me with open arms. And I have accepted an invitation to visit tonight.”
“But Lolita?” Doña Catalina protested.
“She must remain here, of course. Will it not be all right? There are half a hundred servants about. And I have accepted the invitation, my dear!”
Such a chance to win favor again could not be disregarded, of course, and so Lolita was made acquainted with the arrangement. She was to remain in the great living-room, reading a volume of verse she had found there, and if she grew sleepy she was to retire to a certain chamber. The servants would guard her, and the despensero would look after her wishes personally.
Don Carlos and his wife went to make their evening visit, being lighted across the plaza by half a dozen natives who held torches in their hands, for the night was without a moon and rain was threatening again.
Señorita Lolita curled up on a couch, the volume of verse in her lap, and began to read. Each verse treated of love, romance, passion. She marveled that Don Diego would read such, being so lifeless himself, but the volume showed that it had been much handled. She sprang from the couch to look at other
