The saloon occupied by these two damsels was furnished in the usual manner of Spanish houses of the better class; the floor spread with _esteras_, or mats, a large table in the centre, and two smaller ones at the sides, the latter supporting images of the Virgen de los Remedios, and of San Jago de Compostella. A dozen or two high-backed chairs, dating probably from the time of Philip the Fourth, made up the furniture. The walls were covered with square tiles of blue earthenware, the hangings were of green Cordovan leather, and instead of the chandelier, which hung in one corner of the extensive apartment, six silken cords were suspended from the large gilt hook in the centre of the ceiling. On the table in the middle of the room lay several musical instruments, amongst them a Spanish guitar and a Mexican _teponatzli_ or lute--the latter a hollow wooden cylinder, with two parallel holes cut in the centre, and played upon by means of sticks tipped with caoutchouc. A cloister-like stillness reigned in the saloon as well as on the balcony, and not a syllable was uttered, although fully a quarter of an hour had elapsed since the arrival of the young ladies and their donzellas. Nor was there more vivacity of movement than of tongue. From time to time, one or other of the three girls would push aside her mantilla, and dart a flashing glance into the street, and then, meeting no return, relapse into her former languor. "_A ellos! a ellos!_ Go on!" at length cried a voice out of the lap of the mulatto girl. "_Que quiere?_ What do you want?" replied the latter, as she discontinued her diligent search amongst the raven locks, and raising the head from her knees, exposed to view a youthful and charming countenance. "_Basta!_ enough!" added she, in a decided tone. The lady gave her an angry look. "_Porque?_" she asked "_Porque acabar?_ Why leave off?" "_Que quiere vmd?_" returned the waiting-maid; "_matar los todos? A ninguna senora de calidad se los mata todos._ No lady of quality has them all killed." "_Mentira!_ 'Tis a lie!" screamed her mistress peevishly. "_Es verdad!_ 'Tis true!" interposed Donas Ximene, Celestina, and Laura, putting their hands into their hair, and after a short search producing manifest proofs of the truth of the waiting-maid's assertion, and of their own powers of endurance. Thereupon the head sank once more into the lap of the mulatto maiden, who began to disentangle and arrange the hair. Again all was still. The three senoritas gazed out into the street, and smoked and yawned; the attendant twisted and plaited her mistress's abundant tresses; all was apathy leaden, Mexican apathy.