II

The same afternoon Benicia ran into the sala where her mother was lying on a sofa, and exclaimed excitedly: "My mother! My mother! It is not so bad. The Americans are not so wicked as we have thought. The proclamation of the Commodore Sloat has been pasted on all the walls of the town and promises that our grants shall be secured to us under the new government, that we shall elect our own alcaldes, that we shall continue to worship God in our own religion, that our priests shall be protected, that we shall have all the rights and advantages of the American citizen--"

"Stop!" cried Dona Eustaquia, springing to her feet. Her face still burned with the bitter experience of the morning. "Tell me of no more lying promises! They will keep their word! Ay, I do not doubt but they will take advantage of our ignorance, with their Yankee sharpness! I know them! Do not speak of them to me again. If it must be, it must; and at least I have thee." She caught the girl in her arms, and covered the flower-like face with passionate kisses. "My little one! My darling! Thou lovest thy mother--better than all the world? Tell me!"

The girl pressed her soft, red lips to the dark face which could express such fierceness of love and hate.

"My mother! Of course I love thee. It is because I have thee that I do not take the fate of my country deeper heart. So long as they do not put their ugly bayonets between us, what difference whether the eagle or the stars wave above the fort?"

"Ah, my child, thou hast not that love of country which is part of my soul! But perhaps it is as well, for thou lovest thy mother the more. Is it not so, my little one?"

"Surely, my mother; I love no one in the world but you."

Dona Eustaquia leaned back and tapped the girl's fair cheek with her finger.

"Not even Don Fernando Altimira?"

"No, my mother."

"Nor Flujencio Hernandez? Nor Juan Perez? Nor any of the caballeros who serenade beneath thy window?"

"I love their music, but it comes as sweetly from one throat as from another."

Her mother gave a long sigh of relief. "And yet I would have thee marry some day, my little one. I was happy with thy father--thanks to God he did not live to see this day--I was as happy, for two little years, as this poor nature of ours can be, and I would have thee be the same. But do not hasten to leave me alone. Thou art so young! Thine eyes have yet the roguishness of youth; I would not see love flash it aside. Thy mouth is like a child's; I shall shed the saddest tears of my life the day it trembles with passion. Dear little one! Thou hast been more than a daughter to me; thou hast been my only companion. I have striven to impart to thee the ambition of thy mother and the intellect of thy father. And I am proud of thee, very, very