Remember the Alamo | Page 9

turned the little
maxim into a superstition.
In the Senora's room, the precept was either denied, or defied. Antonia
heard the laughter and conversation through the closed door, and easily
divined the subject of it. It was, but natural. The child had a triumph;
one that appealed strongly to her mother's pride and predilections. It
was a pleasant sight to see them in the shaded sunshine exulting
themselves happily in it.

The Senora, plump and still pretty, reclined upon a large gilded bed. Its
splendid silk coverlet and pillows cased in embroidery and lace made
an effective background for her. She leaned with a luxurious indolence
among them, sipping chocolate and smoking a cigarrito. Isabel was on
a couch of the same description. She wore a satin petticoat, and a loose
linen waist richly trimmed with lace. It showed her beautiful shoulders
and arms to perfection. Her hands were folded above her head. Her tiny
feet, shod in satin, were quivering like a bird's wings, as if they were
keeping time with the restlessness of her spirit.
She had large eyes, dark and bright; strong eyebrows, a pale
complexion with a flood of brilliant color in the checks, dazzling even
teeth, and a small, handsome mouth. Her black hair was loose and
flowing, and caressed her cheeks and temples in numberless little curls
and tendrils. Her face was one flush of joy and youth. She had a look
half-earnest and half-childlike, and altogether charming. Antonia
adored her, and she was pleased to listen to the child, telling over again
the pretty things that had been said to her.
"Only Don Luis was not there at all, Antonia. There is always
something wanting," and her voice fell with those sad inflections that
are often only the very excess of delight.
The Senora looked sharply at her. "Don Luis was not desirable. He was
better away--much better!"
"But why?"
"Because, Antonia, he is suspected. There is an American called
Houston. Don Luis met him in Nacogdoches. He has given his soul to
him, I think. He would have fought Morello about him, if the captain
could have drawn his sword in such a quarrel. I should not have known
about the affair had not Senora Valdez told me. Your father says
nothing against the Americans."
"Perhaps, then, he knows nothing against them."
"You will excuse me, Antonia; not only the living but the dead must

have heard of their wickedness. They are a nation of ingrates. Ingrates
are cowards. It was these words Captain Morello said, when Don Luis
drew his sword, made a circle with its point and stood it upright in the
centre. It was a challenge to the whole garrigon, and about this fellow
Houston, whom be calls his friend! Holy Virgin preserve us from such
Mexicans!"
"It is easier to talk than to fight. Morello's tongue is sharper than his
sword."
"Captain Morello was placing his sword beside that of Don Luis, when
the Commandant interfered. He would not permit his officers to fight in
such a quarrel. `Santo Dios!' he said, `you shall all have your
opportunity very soon, gentlemen.' Just reflect upon the folly of a boy
like Don Luis, challenging a soldier like Morello!"
"He was in no danger, mother," said Antonia scornfully. "Morello is a
bully, who wears the pavement out with his spurs and sabre. His
weapons are for show. Americans, at least, wear their arms for use, and
not for ornament."
"Listen, Antonia! I will not have them spoken of. They are Jews--or at
least infidels, all of them!--the devil himself is their father--the bishop,
when he was here last confirmation, told me so."
"Mother!"
"At least they are unbaptized Christians, Antonia. If you are not
baptized, the devil sends you to do his work. As for Don Luis, he is a
very Judas! Ah, Maria Santissima! how I do pity his good mother!"
"Poor Don Luis!" said Isabel plaintively.
He is so handsome, and he sings like a very angel. And he loves my
father; he wanted to be a doctor, so that he could always be with him. I
dare say this man called Houston is no better than a Jew, and perhaps
very ugly beside. Let us talk no more about him and the Americans. I
am weary of them; as Tia Rachella says, `they have their spoon in

every one's mess.'"
And Antonia, whose heart was burning, only stooped down and closed
her sister's pretty mouth with a kiss. Her tongue was impatient to speak
for the father, and grandmother, and the friends, so dear to her; but she
possessed great discretion, and also a large share of that rarest of all
womanly graces, the power under provocation, of "putting on Patience
the noble."
CHAPTER III.
BUILDERS OF THE COMMONWEALTH.
"Methinks