Under the Andes Part 8

Le Mire shrugged her shoulders. "Tourists? Bah! Merci, non. Allons!"

I laughed and went forward to the captain to tell him that madame did not approve of Santa Catalina. In another minute the dingey was back on its davits, the anchor up, and we were under way. Poor captain!

Within a week he became used to Le Mire's sudden whims.

At San Diego we went ash.o.r.e. Le Mire took a fancy to some Indian blankets, and Harry bought them for her; but when she expressed an intention to take an Indian girl--about sixteen or seventeen years old--aboard the yacht as a "companion," I interposed a firm negative.

And, after all, she nearly had her way.

For a month it was "just one port after another." Mazatlan, San Bias, Manzanillo, San Salvador, Panama City--at each of these we touched, and visited sometimes an hour, sometimes two or three days. Le Mire was loading the yacht with all sorts of curious relics. Ugly or beautiful, useful or worthless, genuine or faked, it mattered not to her; if a thing suited her fancy she wanted it--and got it.

At Guayaquil occurred the first collision of wills. It was our second evening in port. We were dining on the deck of the yacht, with half a dozen South American generals and admirals as guests.

Toward the end of the dinner Le Mire suddenly became silent and remained for some minutes lost in thought; then, suddenly, she turned to the bundle of gold lace at her side with a question:

"Where is Guayaquil?"

He stared at her in amazement.

"It is there, senora," he said finally, pointing to the sh.o.r.e lined with twinkling lights.

"I know, I know," said Le Mire impatiently; "but where is it? In what country?"

The poor fellow, too surprised to be offended, stammered the name of his native land between gasps, while Harry and I had all we could do to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Ah," said Desiree in the tone of one who has made an important discovery, "I thought so. Ecuador. Monsieur, Quito is in Ecuador."

The general--or admiral, I forget which--acknowledged the correctness of her geography with a profound bow.

"But yes. I have often heard of Quito, monsieur. It is a very interesting place. I shall go to Quito."

There ensued immediately a babel. Each of our guests insisted on the honor of accompanying us inland, and the thing would most a.s.suredly have ended in a b.l.o.o.d.y quarrel on the captain's polished deck, if I had not interposed in a firm tone:

"But, gentlemen, we are not going to Quito."

Le Mire looked at me--and such a look! Then she said in a tone of the utmost finality:

"I am going to Quito."

I shook my head, smiling at her, whereupon she became furious.

"M. Lamar," she burst forth, "I tell you I am going to Quito! In spite of your smile! Yes! Do you hear? I shall go!"

Without a word I took a coin from my pocket and held it up. I had come to know Le Mire. She frowned for a moment in an evident attempt to maintain her anger, then an irresistible smile parted her lips and she clapped her hands gaily.

"Very well," she cried, "toss, monsieur! Heads!"

The coin fell tails, and we did not go to Quito, much to the disappointment of our guests. Le Mire forgot all about it in ten minutes.

Five days later we dropped anchor at Callao.

This historic old port delighted Le Mire at once. I had told her something of its story: its successive bombardments by the liberators from Chile, the Spanish squadron, buccaneering expeditions from Europe and the Chilean invaders; not to mention earthquakes and tidal waves.

We moored alongside the stone pier by the lighthouse; the old clock at its top pointed to the hour of eight in the morning.

But as soon as Le Mire found out that Lima was but a few miles away, Callao no longer held any interest for her. We took an afternoon train and arrived at the capital in time for dinner.

There it was, in picturesque old Lima, that Le Mire topped her career.

On our first afternoon we betook ourselves to the fashionable paseo, for it was a band day, and all Lima was out.

In five minutes every eye in the gay and fashionable crowd was turned on Le Mire. Then, as luck would have it, I met, quite by chance, a friend of mine who had come to the University of San Marcos some years before as a professor of climatology. He introduced us, with an air of importance, to several of the groups of fashion, and finally to the president himself. That night we slept as guests under the roof of a luxurious and charming country house at Miraflores.

Le Mire took the capital by storm. Her style of beauty was peculiarly fitted for their appreciation, for pallor is considered a mark of beauty among Lima ladies. But that could scarcely account for her unparalleled triumph. I have often wondered--was it the effect of a premonition?

The president himself sat by her at the opera. There were two duels attributed to her within a week; though how the deuce that was possible is beyond me.

On society day at the bull-ring the cues were given by Le Mire; her hand flung the rose to the matador, while the eight thousand excited spectators seemed uncertain whether they were applauding her or him.

Lima was hers, and never have I seen a fortnight so crowded with incidents.

But Le Mire soon tired of it, as was to be expected. She greeted me one morning at the breakfast table:

"My friend Paul, let us go to Cerro de Pasco. They have silver--thousands and thousands of tons--and what you call them?

Ornaments."

"And then the Andes?" I suggested.

"Why not?"

"But, my dear Desiree, what shall we do with the yacht?"

"Pooh! There is the captain. Come--shall I say please?"

So we went to Cerro de Pasco. I wrote to Captain Harris, telling him not to expect us for another month or so, and sending him sufficient funds to last till our return.

I verily believe that every one of note in Lima came to the railroad station to see us off.

Our compartment was a ma.s.s of flowers, which caused me to smile, for Le Mire, curiously enough, did not like them. When we had pa.s.sed out of the city she threw them out of the window, laughing and making jokes at the expense of the donors. She was in the best of humor.

We arrived at Oroya late in the afternoon, and departed for Cerro de Pas...o...b.. rail on the following morning.

This ride of sixty-eight miles is unsurpa.s.sed in all the world.

Snow-capped peaks, bottomless precipices, huge ma.s.ses of boulders that seem ready to crush the train surround you on every side, and now and then are directly above or beneath you.

Le Mire was profoundly impressed; indeed, I had not supposed her to possess the sensibility she displayed; and as for me, I was most grateful to her for having suggested the trip. You who find yourselves too well-acquainted with the Rockies and the Alps and the Himalayas should try the Andes. There is a surprise waiting for you.

But for the story.

We found Cerro de Pasco, interesting as its situation is, far short of our expectations. It is a mining town, filled with laborers and speculators, noisy, dirty, and coa.r.s.e. We had been there less than forty-eight hours when I declared to Harry and Le Mire my intention of returning at once.

"But the Andes!" said Le Mire. "Shall we not see them?"

"Well--there they are."