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Updated: June 1, 2025
I could have smiled at the thought that all I had to do now was to hasten the departure of that abominable lunatic—for Tolosa: an easy task, almost no task at all. Yes, I would have smiled, had not I felt outraged by the presence of Señor Ortega under the same roof with Doña Rita.
Obviously he didn’t expect to be met, because when I murmured an enquiring, “Señor Ortega?” into his ear he swerved away from me and nearly dropped a little handbag he was carrying. His complexion was uniformly pale, his mouth was red, but not engaging. His social status was not very definite.
On December 22, 1860, Miramon was finally defeated at Calpulalpan by General Ortega, and shortly after left the country.
Following him they reached the foot of the castle walls without discovery. Here, under the dark shadow of the towers, they halted and listened. There was not a sound to be heard, not a light to be seen; sleep seemed to brood over castle and town. The ladders were placed and the men noiselessly ascended, Ortega, the guide, going first.
They had been talking of their strange experiences, of Manuela Estacardo, of Captain Ortega and of those whose memories were much less pleasant. You can imagine the trend of that low, delightful conversation, for the scene, the surroundings, the time, indeed all the circumstances tended to draw them closer.
Beyond were great green plains alive with cattle, and above all curved the hills dark with pines. Three soldiers had left the Presidio and were sauntering toward the convent. "It is Enrico Ortega!" whispered Eustaquia Carillo, excitedly. "And Ramon de Castro!" scarcely breathed Elena Estudillo. "And José Yorba!" "Not Pepe Gomez? Ay, yi!" "Nor Manuel Ameste!"
And the only person that could have answered to that description was Señor Ortega. I moved on, stealthy, absorbed, undecided; asking myself earnestly: “What on earth am I going to do with him?” That exclusive preoccupation of my mind was as dangerous to Señor Ortega as typhoid fever would have been. It strikes me that this comparison is very exact.
Señor Ortega gulped down some more wine and suggested I should tell him who I was. “It’s only right I should know,” he added. This could not be gainsaid; and to a man connected with the Carlist organization the shortest way was to introduce myself as that “Monsieur George” of whom he had probably heard.
Only I must ask you not to come out of this room till I tell you you may.” I was extremely anxious that Señor Ortega should never even catch a glimpse of Doña Rita, never guess how near he had been to her. I was extremely anxious the fellow should depart for Tolosa and get shot in a ravine; or go to the Devil in his own way, as long as he lost the track of Doña Rita completely.
The first was entered by Father Geronimo de Ortega, and the second by Father Juan Andres de Palavicino; but, on account of the death of both these, Father Luis Pimentel at the time, rector of the college of San Ignacio began to govern. On the thirteenth of October, the armada entered the port of Cavite.
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