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Updated: June 29, 2025
Be sure thou goest no farther! I would not let thee go there alone were it not so near. And be sure thou speakest to no man in the street." "No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the street, but one awaits me in the house. Hasta luego." And she flitted out of the door and up the street. A few hours later Doña Eustaquia sat in the large and cooler sala with Captain Brotherton.
Each would be your devoted servant." "And then she have her necklace!" cried Benicia, delightedly. "What is that?" asked Russell; but Doña Eustaquia shook her fan threateningly and turned away. "I no tell you everything," said Benicia, "so no be too curiosa. You no dance the contradanza, no?" "I regret to say that I do not. But this is a plain waltz; will you not give it to me?"
"You have killed her," said the old woman, as she drew the mantilla about the baby's face. Doña Eustaquia dropped the body and moved backward from the bed. She put out her hands and went gropingly from the room to her own, and from thence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to meet her. "Eustaquia!" he cried. "My friend! My dear! What has happened? What "
And he is alone!" She flung herself across Doña Eustaquia's knees and burst into violent sobbing. Doña Eustaquia laid her strong arm about her friend, but her eyes were more angry than soft. "Weep no more, Modeste," she said. "Rather, arise and curse those who have flung a great man into the dust. But comfort thyself. Who can know?
I would not have thee hate even an Estenega, although I cannot love them myself. But we will not talk of the Estenegas. Dost thou realize that our Reinaldo will be with us this night? We must all go to confession to-morrow, thy mother and myself, Eustaquia, Reinaldo, Prudencia, and thyself." Chonita's face became rigid. "I cannot go to confession," she said.
The last two recorded burials within the walls of the Los Angeles chapel are those of the young wife of Nathaniel M. Pryor, "buried on the left-hand side facing the altar," and of Doña Eustaquia, mother of the Dons Andrés, Jesus, and Pio Pico, all intimately connected with the history of the later days of Mexican rule.
Benicia handed her the instrument and Doña Eustaquia swept the chords absently for a moment then sang the song of the troubadour. Her rich voice was like the rush of the wind through the pines after the light trilling of a bird, and even Russell sat enraptured. As she sang the colour came into her face, alight with the fire of youth.
But the women wore fluttering mantillas, and their prancing high-stepping horses were trapped with embossed leather and silver. In a lumbering "wagon of the country," drawn by oxen, running on solid wheels cut from the trunks of trees, but padded with silk, rode some of the older people of the town, disapproving, but overridden by the impatient enthusiasm of Doña Eustaquia.
Doña Modeste was not in the big mahogany bed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Doña Eustaquia crossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms the small figure kneeling there. "Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, and thou art better in bed or with thy friends."
Even Benicia's gay spirit was oppressed, and during the long ride homeward through the pine woods she had little to say to her equally silent companion. Doña Eustaquia seldom gave balls, but once a week she opened her salas to the more intellectual people of the town.
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