Ernesto Madero and his wife were also there. She loves going out, and always has a pleased, not at all _blasé_ look on her handsome face, which is most attractive. I imagine Don Ernesto is _très-fin_ with real gifts. We always say the Madero government reminds us of the Medici, with the fine arts and the strong hand cut out. One of them is President, one of them almost more than President, Don Ernesto is Minister of the Treasury, Rafaél Hernandez, his cousin, Minister of Fomento. Another brother, Emilio, is with the army, etc., etc., etc., down through the generally computed two hundred and thirty-two members. It's the most complete system of nepotism since the aforementioned Florentine days. Huerta is reported to be making good progress driving Orozco back north of Bermejillo, where Captain Burnside now is. _May 14th._ To-night deep nostalgia possesses my heart; the seasons have swung round again. At four o'clock the first rain drenched the city. This morning to the Red Cross, where a solid three hours' work awaited Madame Lefaivre and myself, looking neither to the right nor to the left. A larger number than usual waiting to be attended to, the wounded coming in, not only from the real seat of battle, but as the results of skirmishes all round, and, of course, the usual casualties of the city. We will have a lot in next week from the battle of Tuesday; it takes about six days for the wounded to get in from the north. The doctors are very gentle, and the patients so very patient--scarcely a whimper or a groan. Sometimes only a contraction of the features when suffering agony. True Indian stoicism. The Spanish flows, and my "medical" Spanish is now in competition with my "kitchen" Spanish. Madame Lefaivre and I are the only ones who keep to our schedule days. The Mexican ladies can't; either the rooms are filled to overflowing with them, picture-hats coming and going, darkening the horizon, or they don't appear at all. Aliotti, the new Italian minister, has arrived, and was among my callers this afternoon. His beautiful wife is not with him, as she could not stand the altitude. He is just from Rome, from the Foreign Office, and is extremely clever. He finds Mexico somewhat far from his special "madding crowd." A letter from Aunt L. says a man from Istlaltepec had come dashing in a few minutes before to tell the general that the rebels were sacking the hacienda of Don Panfilo Ruiz near Istlaltepec, the banker I met at Juchitan. Various inhabitants of a town beyond had been killed, and people were arriving at San Gerónimo on foot or on horseback, fleeing for their lives under a broiling sun.