The Paseo of Puebla is poor by comparison; but its Alameda is not without merits. It is a large quadrangle lying on the western edge of the city; with trees, walks, statues, flowers, fountains, and all the usual adornments of a public garden. Around it is a road for carriages and equestrians, as well as a path for promenaders--with benches at intervals on which they may rest themselves. Its view includes the _teocalli_ of Cholula, with the church of the virgin "Remedios" on its top; beyond, the snow-cone of Popocatepec, and the twin _nevada_ of the "White Sister." It was not to look upon these that I was "in the Alameda at six o'clock;" or, perhaps, a half-hour earlier. With such an appointment as mine, no living man could have restrained himself from anticipating the time. As the place is devoted to the three several kinds of recreation-- walking, riding, driving--it was a question in which way Mercedes would present herself. The last was the most likely; though the first would have been the more convenient--keeping in view the supposed purpose. It was the mode I had myself adopted: having entered the enclosure as a simple pedestrian, and in civilian dress--to avoid observation. I sauntered along the walks--apparently admiring the flowers, and criticising the statues. It was sheer pretence--to deceive the promenaders, who were moving before and behind me. At that moment I had no thought, either of the elegancies of Art, or the beauties of Nature; not even for its sublimities, displayed within sight on the snow-clad slopes of the great "Cordillera." I was thinking only of the beauty of woman--impatient to behold it in its most perfect type. Was it to appear on foot, on horseback, or between wheels? Considering the character of the times--and that Red Hats were in the Alameda--the last was the most likely. Notwithstanding this conjecture, I scrutinised every female pedestrian who came inside the enclosure--even those coifed by the cheapest _reboso_. Though her sister had said otherwise, Mercedes might not always be free to go forth? She might have to take her recreation by stealth, and disguised? My surmises soon came to an end; and, to my joy, proved erroneous. Dolores had been right. The _cochero_ in black glaze hat and _jaqueta_ of blue camlet cloth, driving a pair of _frisones_, could be no other than he who had once lost a doubloon by staying too late over his stable duties? I took no further note of him. Thenceforth my eyes were occupied with a countenance seen through the windows of the carriage. It was a _carretela_ of elegant construction--all glass in front--best plate, and clear as crystal. The face inside was but improved by its interposition--toned to the softness of tinted wax. It needed no scrutiny to identify it. There was no mistaking the countenance of Mercedes. I had done this before; but that was under the uncertain glimmer of a street lamp.