Lieutenant Russell and a brother officer were sauntering slowly by and
looking straight through the grated window at the beautiful girls in
their gayly flowered gowns. They saluted, and the girls bent their
slender necks, but dared not speak, for Doña Francesca Hernandez was in
the next room and the door was open. Immediately following the American
officers came Don Fernando Altimira on horseback. He scowled as he saw
the erect swinging figures of the conquerors, but Benicia kissed the
tips of her fingers as he flung his sombrero to the ground, and he
galloped, smiling, on his way.

That night the officers of the United States squadron met the society of
Monterey at the house of Don Jorje Hernandez. After the contradanza, to
which they could be admiring spectators only, much to the delight of the
caballeros, Benicia took the guitar presented by Flujencio, and letting
her head droop a little to one side like a lily bent on its stalk by the
breeze, sang the most coquettish song she knew. Her mahogany brown hair
hung unconfined over her white shoulders and gown of embroidered silk
with its pointed waist and full skirt. Her large brown eyes were
alternately mischievous and tender, now and again lighted by a sudden
flash. Her cheeks were pink; her round babylike arms curved with all the
grace of the Spanish woman. As she finished the song she dropped her
eyelids for a moment, then raised them slowly and looked straight at
Russell.

"By Jove, Ned, you are a lucky dog!" said a brother officer. "She's the
prettiest girl in the room! Why don't you fling your hat at her feet, as
these ardent Californians do?"

[Illustration: "RUSSELL CROSSED THE ROOM AND SAT BESIDE BENICIA."]