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Meanwhile, Don Vicente Gonzales was talking in a low voice to Doña Feliz. He ate little and drank only some water mixed with red wine, while Don Rafael and the General Ramirez partook freely of more generous stimulants, growing more talkative as the evening advanced; and at last, as the ladies rose from the table, and Doña Rita went with the children to the upper rooms, the two walked away together to inspect the horses and talk of the grand reforms initiated by Comonfort, which in reality had but filled the country with discontent and bloodshed. The poison of personal ambition was working in the new President slowly—as it had done more rapidly in his renowned predecessor Santa Anna—the change from the patriot to the demagogue. He who had talked and worked and fought for the liberties of Mexico, dallied with the chains he should have broken.

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As Don Rafael in an unwonted state of complacency, which drew the anxious eyes of his mother upon him, disappeared with his jovial guest the General, the younger officer, Don Vicente Gonzales, drew a long breath of relief, and at a sign from Doña Feliz followed her to the window, with the half-sombre, half-expectant air of one who is about to speak of past events with an old and tried friend; and throwing himself into a chair, he turned his face toward her with the air and gesture which says more plainly than words, “What have you to tell, or ask? We are alone; let us exchange confidences.”