The rain had ceased. A thick mist still covered the surface of both lakes, but their still waters already reflected in their bosom a sky less sombre than before. The volcano of Popocatapetl was still shrouded in mist, while the snow of the neighboring mountain sparkled in the gentle light of the moon. By her uncertain light the White Woman (Iztaczihuatl) looked more like one of the pale Scandinavian divinities under a northern sky than an American nymph reclining under that of the tropics. The lights of the town went out one after the other, and a deep silence reigned around. A confused noise, however, like the wind agitating the reeds in the lake, at times came stealing upon our ears.
"Come on," said Don Blas to me; "it is close upon the hour, and I am astonished that I have seen nothing yet."
"What are you waiting for?" I asked.
"You will soon see; come on."
After walking for about a quarter of an hour, the indistinct noise which broke the stillness of the night soon resolved itself into the tramp of a body of horse. The sounds were deadened by the damp air, and the soft, moist earth on which they moved. It was doubtless a troop of cavalry on march. A dark mass was not long, in fact, in advancing.
"Who goes there?" cried one of the leaders.
"Friends!" replied Don Blas.
"Que gente?" asked the same voice.
"Mexico!" was the lieutenant's reply. He demanded, in his turn, where the division had come from.
"From Cordova," answered the same voice.
The troop passed, and we remained in the same
