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Updated: June 21, 2025
Chonita wandered back and forth behind the arches, waiting for Prudencia's long confession of sinless errors to conclude. "What has a baby like that to confess?" she thought, impatiently. "She could not sin if she tried. She knows nothing of the dark storms of rage and hatred and revenge which can gather in the breasts of stronger and weaker beings.
Chonita, in a white gown, a pale-green reboso about her shoulders, her arms crossed, her head thoughtfully bent forward, walked slowly up and down before him. "Holy God!" cried the old man, pounding the floor with his stick. "That they have dared to arrest my son! the son of Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada! That Alvarado, my friend and thy host, should have permitted it!"
The sash, knotted gracefully over his hip, was of white silk. His curled black hair was tied with a blue ribbon, and clung, clustering and damp, about a low brow. He bore a strange resemblance to Chonita, in spite of the difference of color, but his eyes were merely large and brilliant: they had no stars in their shallows. His mouth was covered by a heavy silken mustache, and his profile was bold.
It was a baffling mouth, even to experienced women, and Chonita could make nothing of it. It had neither sweetness nor softness, but she had never felt impelled to study the mouth of a caballero. And then she wondered how a man with a mouth like that could have manners so gentle. "Are you aware," he said, abruptly, "that your brother is accused of conspiracy?" "What?"
"That was a strange outbreak for a Spanish girl," said Señor Larkin. "She is Chonita Iturbi y Moncada," said Castro, severely. "She is like no other woman, and what she does is right." The consul bowed. "True, coronel. I have seen no one here like Doña Chonita. There is a delicious uniformity about the Californian women: so reserved, shrinking yet dignified, ever on their guard.
He divided his time between pacing the deck, when the weather permitted, and writing to Chonita: long, intimate, possessing letters, which would reveal her to herself as nothing else, short of his own dominant contact, could do. At San Blas he posted his letters and welcomed the rough journey overland to the capital; but under a calm exterior he was possessed of the spirit of disquiet.
Valencia's black eyes flashed their language so plainly to Estenega's that he could not have deserted her without rudeness; and Estenega never was rude. "Adan," said Chonita, abruptly, "I am tired of thee. Sit down under that tree until I come back. I wish to walk alone with Eustaquia for awhile." Adan sighed and did as he was bidden, consoling himself with a cigarito.
Chonita wore a white silk gown, I remember flowered with blue, large blue lilies. The reboso matched the gown. As soon as we arrived we were a little late she was surrounded by caballeros who hardly knew whether to like her or not, but who adhered to the knowledge that she was Chonita Iturbi y Moncada, the most famous beauty of the South.
"It is thou who hast the honey on thy tongue, although I fear there may be a stone in thy heart." "Ah! Why? No stone could sit so lightly in my breast as my heart when those red lips smile to me." Chonita listened to this conversation with mingled amazement and anger. She did not doubt Estenega's sincerity to herself; neither did Valencia appear to doubt him.
How he managed, Chonita never knew, but not a half-hour after dinner she found herself alone in the canon with him, seated among the huge stones cataclysms had hurled there. "Why have you brought me here?" she asked. "To talk with you." "But this would be severely censured." "Do you care?" "No."
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