Thus Captain Mitchell would talk in the middle of the Plaza, holding
over his head a white umbrella with a green lining; but inside the
cathedral, in the dim light, with a faint scent of incense floating in
the cool atmosphere, and here and there a kneeling female figure, black
or all white, with a veiled head, his lowered voice became solemn and
impressive.
"Here," he would say, pointing to a niche in the wall of the dusky
aisle, "you see the bust of Don Jose Avellanos, 'Patriot and Statesman,'
as the inscription says, 'Minister to Courts of England and Spain, etc.,
etc., died in the woods of Los Hatos worn out with his lifelong struggle
for Right and Justice at the dawn of the New Era.' A fair likeness.
Parrochetti's work from some old photographs and a pencil sketch by Mrs.
Gould. I was well acquainted with that distinguished Spanish-American of
the old school, a true Hidalgo, beloved by everybody who knew him.
The marble medallion in the wall, in the antique style, representing
a veiled woman seated with her hands clasped loosely over her knees,
commemorates that unfortunate young gentleman who sailed out with
Nostromo on that fatal night, sir. See, 'To the memory of Martin Decoud,
his betrothed Antonia Avellanos.' Frank, simple, noble. There you have
that lady, sir, as she is. An exceptional woman. Those who thought she
would give way to despair were mistaken, sir. She has been blamed in
many quarters for not having taken the veil. It was expected of her. But
Dona Antonia is not the stuff they make nuns of. Bishop Corbelan, her
uncle, lives with her in the Corbelan town house. He is a fierce sort of
priest, everlastingly worrying the Government about the old Church lands
and convents. I believe they think a lot of him in Rome. Now let us go
to the Amarilla Club, just across the Plaza, to get some lunch."
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