"No," he said, "Luzecita waits me at the convent. Not to go to see her would plunge her into the deepest grief. No one can escape their destiny."
We talked together a short time longer. As he insensibly lapsed into a gloomy mood, I tried to jest with him upon our actual position.
"As for me," I said, "I shall be more prudent than you. I am going to bury myself in the deepest mine I can find, and it will be a terrible thing if this horrid Verdugo meets me eighteen hundred feet below ground."
We separated, Don Jaime to the convent, and I to visit one of the most easily accessible mines in the neighborhood. As I was crossing the square on my way to the outskirts of the town, I fancied I distinguished the well-known face of Florencio Planillas at the door of a pulqueria. Delighted at having this opportunity of undeceiving him as to the intention of Remigio Vasquez, or rather Don Jaime, I went up to the door, in spite of the repugnance I have for these Mexican cabarets, where both men and women sit drinking that abominable liquor prepared from fermented pulque.[1] Whether Florencio had seen, and wished to avoid me, I know not; at any rate, he disappeared into the shop. The life of Don Jaime doubtless depended on the interview I was going to have with Florencio. I stepped over some drunkards, quite intoxicated, who were lying, clothed in rags, across the doorway, and entered the pulqueria. What a fantastical appearance met my eye! The walls were covered with frescoes of the most incredible nature, representing ancient grotesque personages, pictures of
- ↑ The sap of the aloe, which is first as sweet as honey, but by fermentation becomes stinking, sour, and heady.
