The old gentleman drew out a grand chronometer-like timepiece, with jewelled holes and strong gold cases--evidently worth a couple of hundred dollars. "They left me this," he continued, "and my money too! But what signifies that, since they have taken away the _muchachas? Pobres ninas_!" "And they took _only_ them?" I asked, becoming interested in the story of a robber episode so little in keeping with the ordinary experience. "_Nada mas_." "Nothing more! And your fellow-passengers in the _diligencia_? were they alike sparing of their purses?" "Fellow-passengers! We had none, senor capitan. There were but the four of us, as I've said--all members of my own family: for of course we count the good _padre_ as one of ourselves. True, there were two or three other gentlemen who wished to get in with us at Puebla. They were strangers to me; and, not liking their looks, I chartered the _diligencia_ for myself. I believe they came in another coach after us. I am sorry, now, we did not have them along with us. It might have been better. It could not have been worse!" "But the _padre_ of whom you speak--this _hombre muy sabio_--what has become of him?" "_Carrambo, senor_! That is the strangest thing of all: they kept him too! After a time the robbers permitted my unworthy self to proceed on the journey. But the monk they compelled to remain. What a scandal to our Holy Church! I hope it will cause the excommunication of every _ladron_ in Mexico, and have them devoted to the perdition they so richly deserve. This comes of having changed our government into a republic. It was not so in the old times, when Spain sent us a viceroy. Then there were no robbers, such as these audacious _salteadores_, that have this day deprived me of my dear daughters! _Ay de mi_! _Ay de mi_!" "What do you wish the general to do?" I inquired, as the old gentleman became a little tranquillised, after a spasmodic outburst of grief. "Senor," he replied, "we have all heard of the humanity of the American `Gefe.' Though he is our country's enemy, we respect him for the compassion he has shown to a conquered people. Entreat him to take my unhappiness to heart. I know you will do so. Ask him to send out a troop of his valiant dragoons, and recover my lost children. At sight of your brave soldiers the robbers would take to flight, and leave the poor _muchachas_ to be restored to their sorrowing father. O kind capitan; do not deny me! My only hope is in you!" Although the story of a father thus brutally bereft of his children was of itself calculated to excite commiseration, I should, perhaps, not have felt it very keenly, but for a souvenir it had stirred up within me.