I am not yet reaccustomed to the extreme beauty of the Mexican morning; a dazzling, many-colored light that would dim the spectrum is filtering into my room, as I write, glorifying every object and corner. I have had the covers taken off the pink furniture; a rose-colored coverlet and cushions are on my _chaise-longue_, and the _glow_ is indescribable. You will have seen that the Chambers are convened for the fifteenth of November, but in spite of preparations for legislation, a warlike something is in the air. Squads of soldiers are passing the Embassy, with much playing of the beautiful national hymn. They handle their brass very well, and their military music would be good anywhere. In Washington they are taking the news of the _coup d’état_ with their coffee.... I have not yet seen von Hintze,[1] though he came early yesterday, bringing a gift of fortifying liqueur, “for the altitude,” and some flowers; and I went with Elim to the Legation, later on. I understand that he looks at the situation rather _en noir_. But he is somewhat of a bear on Mexican matters, anyway, his first experience, on arriving three years ago, being the horrid Covadonga murders.... A certain natural exclusiveness and aloofness are among his special attributes, and his psychology is somewhat mysterious, even to his friends; but he is immensely clever and charming, of the world, and very sympathetic--really a _cher_ colleague! N. has just left the house in frock-coat and top-hat, the chiefs of mission having been summoned to the Foreign Office, where they will hear the official reason of the _coup d’état_. I shall be most interested in the explanation, which will probably be some adroit Latin-American arrangement of facts. One has a feeling of being at school, here, and constantly learning something new to the Anglo-Saxon mentality. Now I must hie me down-stairs and tackle a few of _my_ “affairs of the interior.” The house is so big that, even with the many servants now in it, it doesn’t seem “manned,” and bells are answered very intermittently. One or more of the servants can always be found at the gates of the garden, greeting the passers-by--a little Indian habit, and incurable. What I need is a European _maître d’hôtel_ to thunder at them from his Aryan heights as the Wilsons had. There are some good Aztec specimens left over from their administration, whom I shall keep on--Aurora, a big, very handsome Indian maid, from the Apam valley; Maria, the head washerwoman, with fine, delicate hands, like a queen; and a few others. Neither cook nor butler. Berthe is busy unpacking and pressing; everything was wrinkled by the damp, penetrating heat of the sea-trip.