ime his surgeon gave him permission to ride out in an easy carriage.
He was driven to the Alameda, where he ordered the carriage to halt
under the shade of its beautiful trees, and directly in front of the
spot where he had rested on entering the city. He recognized the
little window. The white flag was not now there, and he could see
nothing of the inmates. He remained a considerable time seated in the
carriage, gazing upon the house, but no face appeared at the cold iron
grating, no smile to cheer his vigil. Tired and disappointed, he
ordered his carriage to be driven back to the hotel.

Next day he repeated the manoeuvre, and the next, and the next, with a
like success. Probably he had not chosen the proper time of day. It
was certainly not the hour when the lovely faces of the Mexican women
appear in their balconies. This reflection induced him to change the
hour, and, upon the day following, he ordered his carriage in the
evening. Just before twilight, it drew up as usual under the tall
trees of the Alameda. Imagine the delight of the young officer, at
seeing the face of the beautiful Mexican through the gratings of the
_reja_.

The stir made by the stopping of the carriage had attracted her. The
uniform of its inmate was the next object of her attention, but when
her eyes fell upon the face of the wearer, a strange expression came
over her countenance, as if she were struggling with some indistinct
recollections, and all at once that beautiful countenance was suffused
with a smile of joy. She had recognized the officer. The latter, who
had been an anxious observer of every change of expression, smiled in
return, and bowed an acknowledgment, then turning to his servant, who
was a Mexican, he told him, in Spanish, to approach the window, and
offer his thanks to the young lady for her act of kindness upon the
15th of September.

The servant delivered the message, and shortly afterward the carriage
drove off. For several evenings the same carriage might be seen
standing under the trees of the Alameda. An interesting acquaintance
had been established between the young officer and the Mexican girl.
About a week afterward, and the carriage appeared no more. The invalid
had been restored to perfect strength.

December came, and upon the 15th of this month, about half an hour
before twilight, an American officer, wrapped in a light Mexican
cloak, passed down the Calle San Francisco, and crossed into the
Alameda. Here