The Peruvian gives an order to the servant and shortly a vehicle stands at the door. It is a lumbering old open carriage that has evidently been grand in its day--with two white horses that match it in age and decrepitude. In the best of spirits we drive off. The Baron talks Spanish with the driver and answers all our million inquiries. We learn that the best houses are built round a hollow square called a _patio_, and the occasional glimpses through the opening of massive doors into these courts reveal a sun-shiny garden of tropical fruits and flowers. Roses everywhere fill the afternoon with fragrance, and the strong aroma of ripening bananas and pines makes the hot air heavy. "Ees it like vhat you dthought?" asks the Peruvian. "Much better in some respects," I say, "but the houses look dreadfully dreary outside; they are more like prisons than homes, with their great blank walls and here and there an arched and grated window." "And there's not a pane of glass in the town," says Mrs. Steele, "lattices inside and wooden shutters without." "Yes, and I've noticed ever so many pairs of bright eyes peering through those lattices. Poor things!" I say feelingly, "I suppose a Mexican girl of good family must have a very stupid time." "Not in dthe slightes'," says the Peruvian with decision. "Vomans air much better take care off; dthey air fery happy, I 'sure you," and turning to me--"You vould like it yourself after a leedle." "Indeed I shouldn't! And neither would the unfortunates who had charge of me." We pass a Catholic graveyard with high adobe wall and are at the Hospital Municipal, our objective point. A dark young man in ill-fitting clothes receives us and shows us about this primitive refuge. The floors are tiled and all the appointments are rude, but very clean. Baron de Bach distributes his Mexican dollars so generously the dark young man is quite overcome. He asks some question with solemn black eyes fixed on me. The Peruvian laughs with slight confusion and I catch "_Si_" in his reply. The dark young man puts another query. "What's it all about?" says Mrs. Steele; "you promised to interpret." "Oh, yes, if I must. Dthis zhentleman ask if dthis young lady ees my wife and if she like roses." "Oh, let us see the roses," says Mrs. Steele, calmly ignoring the wretch's prevarication, for I know to the first question he said "Yes." With my nose in the air I follow the rest into the rose garden of the hospital, where all is so lovely I quite forget I am offended. Oh, the rose trees and the wilderness of bloom! The dark young man gathers for Mrs. Steele and the Baron de Bach for me.