This was evidently one of the
best houses in the place, and, coming directly from the glaring sun
and the white, dusty road, the vine-shaded _patio_ and corridor
looked delightfully cool and inviting. A gay company of twelve or
fifteen people were gathered under the corridor, some sipping
_mate_, others sucking grapes; and when we came on the scene a
young lady was just finishing a song she was singing. I at once singled
out General Santa Coloma, sitting by the young lady with the guitar--a
tall, imposing man, with somewhat irregular features, and a bronzed,
weather-beaten face. He was booted and spurred, and over his uniform
wore a white silk _poncho_ with purple fringe. I judged from his
countenance that he was not a stern or truculent man, as one expects
a Caudillo--a leader of men--in the Banda Oriental to be: and,
remembering that in a few minutes he would be leaving the house, I was
anxious to push forward and state my case to him. The others, however,
prevented me, for the General just then happened to be engaged in a
vivacious conversation with the young lady sitting by him. When I had
once looked attentively at this girl I had eyes for no other face
there. The type was Spanish, and I have never seen a more perfect face
of the kind; a wealth of blue-black hair shading the low, broad
forehead, straight nose, dark, luminous eyes, and crimson, pouting
lips.
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