[5] This was a time-honored calumny told to all new-comers in Mexico, and believed by many chiefly because it would have been so easy for Don Porfirio to enrich himself to any extent he pleased. The facts are that his ambitions lay rather in the direction of power for himself and peace and progress for his country than in that of the amassing of riches. He was a man of the simplest personal habits, though he always maintained a state dignified and befitting his high office. During his years of exile he and his beautiful wife lived in the quietest manner on an income sufficient only for the ordinary comforts of life. The last will and testament of "the Greatest Mexican" further proved that he could be called to no such accounting by the Final Judge. As for Señor Limantour, he inherited a large fortune from his father, principally in real estate, that increased in value during those years of prosperity which his long and able administration of the finances of Mexico did so much to bring about. [6] In the autumn of 1911 Maurice de Weede was accidentally killed at a shooting-party in Austria. VII The old monastery of Tepozotlan--Lively times on the Isthmus--The Covadonga murders--The Chapultepec reception--Sidelights on Mexican housekeeping--Monte de Piedad _July 21st._ Yesterday General Crozier, Mr. de Soto, and myself motored out to the old church and monastery of Tepozotlan. The morning was indescribably white, with a dash of diamond-powder on its lovely face, and from the very door every turn of the wheel took us over historic ground. We turned down the celebrated Puente de Alvarado, where the dashing captain for whom it is named is supposed to have made his great leap on July 1st, the date of the retreat of the _Noche Triste_, when the Spaniards were fighting their way out of this same road, the Tacuba causeway, to the hill where the Church of the Virgin of the Remedies stands. We passed the famous _Noche Triste_ tree, which those who live here view with composure and indifference, but which still excites the new-comer. And what's the use of an imagination if one can't be stirred by the picture of Cortés sitting under the great cypress and weeping as he took note of gap after gap in the ranks of the companions of his great adventure? There is an old romantic verse that I picked out the other day, instead of preparing verbs, picturing Cortés sitting under the great tree, one hand against his cheek, the other at his side: _En Tacuba está Cortés Con su escuadron esforzado. Triste estaba y muy penoso, Triste y con grande cuidado, Una mano en la mejilla Y la otra en el costado_, etc.