The Rifle Rangers Part 15

"I should think not," I replied.

"Well, then, I wish to say aloud that this old chap's a superb old gent.

What say you, Major? Don't you wish we had him on the lines?"

"I wish his kitchen were a little nearer the lines," replied the other, with a wink.

"Senor Coronel, permit me--"

"What is it, my dear Don?" inquired the major.

"_Pasteles de Moctezuma_."

"Oh, certainly. I say, lads, I don't know what the plague I'm eating-- it's not bad to take, though."

"Senor Coronel, allow me to help you to a _guana_ steak."

"A guana steak!" echoed the major, in some surprise.

"_Si, Senor_," replied Don Cosme, holding the steak on his fork.

"A guana steak! Do you think, lads, he means the ugly things we saw at Lobos."

"To be sure--why not?"

"Then, by Jove, I'm through! I can't go lizards. Thank you, my dear Don Cosme; I believe I have dined."

"Try this; it is very tender, I a.s.sure you," insisted Don Cosme.

"Come, try it, Major, and report," cried Clayey.

"Good--you're like the apothecary that poisoned his dog to try the effect of his nostrums. Well,"--with an oath--"here goes! It can't be very bad, seeing how our friend gets it down. Delicious, by Jupiter!

tender as chicken--good, good!"--and amidst sundry similar e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns the major ate his first guana steak.

"Gentlemen, here is an ortolan pie. I can recommend it--the birds are in season."

"Reed-birds, by Jove!" said the major, recognising his favourite dish.

An incredible number of these creatures disappeared in an incredibly short time.

The dinner dishes were at length removed, and dessert followed: cakes and creams, and jellies of various kinds, and blancmange, and a profusion of the most luxurious fruits. The golden orange, the ripe pine, the pale-green lime, the juicy grape, the custard-like cherimolla, the zapote, the granadilla, the pitahaya, the tuna, the mamay; with dates, figs, almonds, plantains, bananas, and a dozen other species of fruits, piled upon salvers of silver, were set before us: in fact, every product of the tropical clime that could excite a new nerve of the sense of taste. We were fairly astonished at the profusion of luxuries that came from no one knew where.

"Come, gentlemen, try a gla.s.s of curacoa. Senor Coronel, allow me the pleasure."

"Sir, your very good health."

"Senor Coronel, would you prefer a gla.s.s of Majorca?"

"Thank you."

"Or perhaps you would choose _Pedro Ximenes_. I have some very old _Pedro Ximenes_."

"Either, my dear Don Cosme--either."

"Bring both, Ramon; and bring a couple of bottles of the Madeira--_sello verde_," (green seal).

"As I am a Christian, the old gentleman's a conjuror!" muttered the major, now in the best humour possible.

"I wish he would conjure up something else than his infernal wine bottles," thought I, becoming impatient at the non-appearance of the ladies.

"_Cafe_, Senores?" A servant entered.

Coffee was handed round in cups of Sevres china.

"You smoke, gentlemen? Would you prefer a Havanna? Here are some sent me from Cuba by a friend. I believe they are good; or, if you would amuse yourself with a cigaritto, here are Campeacheanos. These are the country cigars--_puros_, as we call them. I would not recommend them."

"A Havanna for me," said the major, helping himself at the same time to a fine-looking "regalia."

I had fallen into a somewhat painful reverie.

I began to fear that, with all his hospitality, the Mexican would allow us to depart without an introduction to his family; and I had conceived a strong desire to speak with the two lovely beings whom I had already seen, but more particularly with the brunette, whose looks and actions had deeply impressed me. So strange is the mystery of love! My heart had already made its choice.

I was suddenly aroused by the voice of Don Cosme, who had risen, and was inviting myself and comrades to join the ladies in the drawing-room.

I started up so suddenly as almost to overturn one of the tables.

"Why, Captain, what's the matter!" said Clayley. "Don Cosme is about to introduce us to the ladies. You're not going to back out?"

"Certainly not," stammered I, somewhat ashamed at my _gaucherie_.

"He says they're in the drawing-room," whispered the major, in a voice that betokened a degree of suspicion; "but where the plague that is, Heaven only knows! Stand by, my boys!--are your pistols all right?"

"Pshaw, Major! for shame!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A SUBTERRANEAN DRAWING-ROOM.

The mystery of the drawing-room, and the servants, and the dishes, was soon over. A descending stairway explained the enigma.

"Let me conduct you to my cave, gentlemen," said the Spaniard: "I am half a subterranean. In the hot weather, and during the northers, we find it more agreeable to live under the ground. Follow me, Senores."

We descended, with the exception of Oakes, who returned to look after the men.

At the foot of the staircase we entered a hall brilliantly lighted. The floor was without a carpet, and exhibited a mosaic of the finest marble.

The walls were painted of a pale blue colour, and embellished by a series of pictures from the pencil of Murillo. These were framed in a costly and elegant manner. From the ceiling were suspended chandeliers of a curious and unique construction, holding in their outstretched branches wax candles of an ivory whiteness.