I then saw Huerta approaching us through the large hall toward the veranda, with the governor of the Federal district, Corona, and a pale, dissipated, clever man--for the moment (which I imagine he is making golden) Minister of Communicaciones. I went forward with some _élan_, as to a charge, and invited the President to the _fiesta_. That small Indian hand of his waved very cordially. It is literally the velvet hand, whatever violent deeds it may have done. But he said that he had a junta of much importance; he would be delighted to accept another time, and so on. There was more shaking of velvet hands, and we went back to our expectant guests, who were decidedly disappointed. It was very pleasant, as always, on the broad veranda, looking toward the Castle, visible above the great branches of the century-old ahuehuetes. N. had been driving with the President for an hour before lunch, and had asked him for the release of three Americans, long imprisoned here. Huerta assured him that they should all be set free, whether guilty or not, just to please him; and at six o’clock this evening the first instalment arrived at the Embassy, delivered into N.’s hands by two Federal officers. And so the work goes on. Huerta is very _prime-sautier_. Once before when N. had asked for the punishment of some soldiers, convicted of deeds of violence against some Americans, he responded promptly: “Who are they? Where are they? They shall all be killed!” N. protested, aghast at the possibly innocent untried sheep suffering with the guilty goats. Anything, however, to please N. in particular and the United States in general. There is really nothing that the United States couldn’t do with Huerta if they would. All concessions, all claims, pending through decades, could be satisfactorily adjusted. As it is, Huerta keeps on at his own gait, not allowing himself to be rushed or hustled by the more definite energy of the _Republica del Norte_, playing the game of masterly inaction and scoring, for the time being, on Washington. After all, you don’t get any “forwarder” by waving copies of the constitution in a dictator’s face. He ignores his relations with the United States, never mentioned us in his speech to Congress, and probably put the ultimatum into the waste-paper basket. I am beginning to think that, in the elegant phrasing of my native land, he is “some” dictator! The New York _Sun_ speaks admiringly of the way in which he continues to treat Mr. O’Shaughnessy with a friendly and delicate consideration. _December 20th._ Red Cross all the morning. It is wonderful, the stoicism of the Indian, where pain, hard pain, is concerned. A rather amusing incident occurred to-day. I asked a man who had had his hand shot off if it were a “Zapatista,” “Constitucionalista,” or “Huertista” deed. He raised the other paw to his forehead, answering with great exactitude, “No, señora, Vasquista.” I thought the Vasquista movement had long since died the usual unnatural death.