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She has not the braids like the other girls, but the hair, soft like black feathers, fall down to the feet. And the eyes like blue stars! You know the eyes of La Tulita. The lashes so long, and black like the hair. And the sparkle! No eyes ever sparkle like those. The eyes of Ysabel Herrera look like they want the world and never can get it. Benicia's, pobrecita, just dance like the child's.
An Indian arrow shot after was too quick for her; and, pierced through and through, she fell dying into my arms. Pobrecita! She kissed me with her parting breath, and then expired. Ah! senor, that was a kiss of death!" A long deep-drawn sigh, and the drooping attitude into which the speaker had fallen, told me that he had ended his narrative.
"I have come to you because you are in trouble," she said. "I, too, am in trouble. Ay, my Faquita!" The old woman put up her arms and drew the girl down to her lap. She had never touched her idol before, but sorrow levels even social barriers. "Pobrecita!" she said, and the girl cried softly on her shoulder. "Will he come back, Faquita?" "Surely, niñita. No man could forget you."
There was less appearance of sympathy than might have been looked for under the circumstances. The number of those that uttered the "pobrecita!" that tender expression of Mexican pity was few; and they were principally the poor dark-skinned native women.
And all the time swell carriages stopping before the portico, dressed-up women walking up in pairs and threes, sighing before the missus' shawl, turning up their eyes, 'Ah! Pobrecita! Pobrecita! But what a strange wrap for her to have. It is very coarse. Perished in the flower of her youth. Incredible! Oh, the savage, cruel Englishman. The funniest thing in the world."
But the experience taught her to obey, taught her that Carmen knew best what was for her good. It also caused her to think a great deal. Carmen had told her that the dead people never frightened good little girls who stayed at home. "Madrecita Carmen," she asked, "is my mamma dead?" "Pobrecita! .... Yes, my angel. God called her to Him, your darling mother."
And he tell her water the rose-bush every day and think of him, and he will come back before it is large, and every time a bud come out she can know he is thinking of her very hard." "Ay, pobrecita!" said Francesca, "I wonder will he come back. These men!" "Surely. Are not all men mad for La Tulita?" "Yes yes, but he go far away. To America! Dios de mi alma! And men, they forget."
The girl looked as though she could tell him more but, with a quick glance over her shoulder, contented herself with saying only: "Señor Escobar is with the men outside." "And the American girl? Miss Gordon?" "Asleep still, señor." "Has Escobar been near her?" "No, señor. She has been alone except for me and Rosita. La pobrecita," she added, almost in a whisper. "She is so frightened."
"As concerns the wife of Juan de Dios, and who was now his widow, pobrecita, she was not to be found at her home. She had taken advantage of her man's absence to decamp to the mountain of Manzana with a strapping goat-herder, a very worthy young man, whom she loved and is now happily free to marry."
Yes but something too that lives and moves, like a quivering speck of gold; and Mateo also perceives it, a gleam of bright hair, and Miguel likewise, after a moment's gazing. A living child; a lifeless mother. Pobrecita! No boat within reach, and only a mighty surf-wrestler could hope to swim thither and return!
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