"Thirty years and more have I been here," she said. "It was a splendid wilderness when we came; nevertheless, a wilderness. We have claimed it for our own, and now it smiles for us. The flag of great Spain once waved over these valleys. The tread of Spanish friars hallowed the ground; and God blessed the work of these men with hundredfold increase. Then the Mexican colors replaced those of Spain. Ah, me! But Mexico cares nothing for us; and at heart we are still Spaniards. Yes, Spaniards; never Mexicans!" The meal over, the party went to an adjoining room. A fire flickered on a vast, old-fashioned hearth. Candles were not lighted, and the shadows danced fitfully on the walls and tapestries of the apartment. Señora Miramonte still wished to speak of Europe. "My husband was once ambassador at Saint Petersburg. We met there a Russian who had been in these Californias. He had been in the diplomatic service here in Monterey, and knew the country well. Knew it north and south and east and west. 'Soon Spain loses that country--all of it; for Mexico is going,' were his words; and he was a very shrewd, far-seeing man. He also said, 'Then the English and the Americans will come to blows over the empire that in large part is no man's land. Not twenty years,' he would say, 'after Spain withdraws from North America, not twenty years will elapse before the British Lion and the American Eagle will bare the teeth and claws to each other over these great stretches of wonderful country.'" She paused a moment. "The British Lion has not yet shown his teeth. He is ready to do so, just the same. Do we not know of Texas, and the country north of us here--Oregon they call it? The American Eagle has not yet cried his war-scream; yet it is swelling in his throat." "Madam, you speak of great subjects," was Jones's reply. She nodded, the light now playing uninterruptedly over her features which were still keen and comely. "No. It is my friend, Lomilkovsky, who does the speaking; and he died sixteen years ago." No one broke the silence for several moments. "I may have spoken too plainly," the venerable lady went on. "Rarely has the past opened before me as to-night. Spain cannot win; and, I say, let the flag rule the Pacific Ocean that can." She arose. "Señor, you breakfast with us to-morrow. Now, please excuse me, friends. I must retire. Early hours compel me. Señora Valentino, will you kindly act as hostess for the rest of the evening in my place?" "Certainly, señora, certainly." The light shone on her snow-white hair as she bowed her head in final good night. "Well, Señor Jones, the sitting room is pleasant. Shall we return?" from Señora Valentino. "With all my heart."