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Updated: June 27, 2025
Lawrence Armstrong, irresistibly charmed by the sound, rode up alongside. "Manuela is merry," he said to the guide; "will you not translate, that I may enjoy the joke?" "It is not easy to translate," replied Pedro. "In fact, I doubt if you will see the joke at all. It requires a little knowledge of Manuela's past career to make understanding possible.
And in the evening one comes home, hat crowned with cool gray Spanish moss, hands burdened with fantastic latanier baskets woven by the brown bayou boys, hand in hand with your dearest one, tired but happy. At this particular picnic, however, there had been bitterness of spirit. Theophile was Manuela's own especial property, and Theophile had proven false.
Hence Lawrence, who was the soul of honour and gallantry, got out of the dilemma by suddenly conceiving and expressing the above intense wish to be Manuela's brother! It did not occur to him that the gratification of his wish might have involved war-paint and feathers, a semi-nude body, a wild unlettered life, and a predilection for raw meat and murder.
The little walk of broken bits of brick was reddened carefully, and the one little step was scrupulously yellow-washed, which denoted that the occupants were cleanly as well as religious. Manuela's timid knock was answered by a harsh "Entrez." It was a small sombre room within, with a bare yellow-washed floor and ragged curtains at the little window.
It was one of Manuela's little fancies to revert sometimes to the broken English peculiar to her colour and costume. This was not at all relished by Lawrence. It seemed to argue a want of earnestness, which was not at all in harmony with the tremendous depth of his love for her!
Things were in this state of profound and peaceful calm when a slight rustling was heard among the branches of the tree above them. The instant glare of Quashy's eyes; the gaze of Manuela's; the cock of Pedro's ear, and the sudden pause of our hero's spoon on its way to his lips, were sights to behold! The Indian alone seemed comparatively indifferent to the sound, though he looked up inquiringly.
Was this Manuela's patriotism, she wished to know? had she not said, over and over again, that she was prepared to shed the last drop of blood for their country, as she herself, Rita, was longing to do? and now, when it was simply a question of a little discomfort, of a few privations shared with their brave defenders, here was Manuela complaining and fretting, like a peevish child.
"The hospital is filling rather quickly, Manuela," said Lawrence, when he had finished tending his new patient, "and your duties are increasing, I fear." "No fear. Me likes to nuss," replied the girl, with a look that puzzled the young doctor. It was Manuela's fascinating smile that came hardest on our poor hero.
Was this, she asked, the place where the señorita was going to live? Where was she to hang the dresses? where was she to lay out the dressing things? As to making up the bed, it would be better to die at once, in Manuela's opinion, than to live Here Manuela stopped suddenly, for she had seen something. Rita, whose back was turned to the doorway of the hut, was rating her severely.
When towns and villages are in flames, when plunder and rapine run riot everywhere, and little children are spitted on the bayonets of patriots, as is often the case even in what men have agreed to term civilised warfare, one is glad to escape with the skin of one's teeth. Yet I was not as regardless of Manuela's comfort as you seem to think.
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