At once, in place of the vague impression of magnificence, there burst upon my vision a glory of ornamentation almost dazzling. In all the Republic we have no church or other edifice to approach the _Parroquia_ of Chihuahua in richness and splendor of ornamentation. The windows were filled with pictures of saints and angels wrought in stained glass, which cast over all a rich coloring well in keeping with the gold-and-silver-bedecked altar, the brass screens and railings, the silver candelabra, and the brightly colored and gilded images and pictures and crucifixes on the walls. Add to this splendor of decoration the rich vestments of the officiating priests, the incense and wax tapers, and the solemn service of music and prayer,--and the effect was one to impress the most frivolous of believers in the Romish faith. Yet as I stood beside one of the carved pillars and watched the devout bendings and prayers of Alisanda, I could not but compare her real worship with the formal movements and parrot-like invocations of those about her. Her religion was of the heart; theirs mere outward display. So at least I surmised from the manner in which, between times, they whispered and nibbled at _dulces_, and stared about at one another. Of course Alisanda and her friend were not alone in their real devotion, but I speak of the crowd. I followed the service as closely as the different accenting and pronunciation of the Latin by Spanish tongues permitted. In justice to Alisanda, it was my duty to learn all I could with regard to her religion. I felt an added interest from the fact that the foremost of the priests was none other than Father Rocus. Yet the closing of the ceremonies came as a vast relief to me. When for the last time the congregation crossed themselves and rose to leave, I leaned against my pillar and watched them pass out with as idle and careless a gaze as I could assume. All the time I kept the mantilla upon Alisanda's gracefully bowed head within the rim of my circle of vision. But I was certain she never once cast a glance in my direction, nor did Dona Dolores. Untrained as I was in the intricacies of Spanish courtship, I might have been discouraged had I not observed that in their advance toward the exit the two were drifting, so to speak, sideways. This brought them angling through the crowd toward my pillar. Senora Malgares was on the nearer side, and I fancied it was her purpose to speak to me. Instead, they both swept by without so much as a glance. Only, as she passed, the senora raised an arm beneath her _rebozo_ as though to adjust its folds, and the fringed edge swept over my hat, which I was holding at my hip. A slight tug at its brim induced me to look down, after a moment's prudent wait. Within the hat's crown lay a scrap of paper upon which was written, in French, the single word, "Follow."