When Count de la Saulay entered the dining room, the other guests, numbering from twenty to twenty-five, were already assembled.
Don Andrés, like many of the great Mexican landowners, had kept up on his estates the custom of making his people eat at the same table with himself.
This patriarchal custom, which has long fallen into desuetude in Europe, was for all that, in our opinion, one of the best our forefathers left us. This community of life drew together the bonds which attach masters to servants, and rendered the latter, so to speak, vassals of the family whose private life they shared up to a certain point.
Don Andrés de la Cruz was standing at the end of the room, between doña Dolores, his daughter, and don Melchior, his son.
We will say nothing of doña Dolores, with whom the reader is already acquainted. Don Melchior was a young man of nearly the same age as the count. His tall stature and powerful limbs rendered him a gallant gentleman, in the common acceptance of the term. His features were manly and marked, and his beard was black and full. He had a large, well open eye, a fixed and piercing glance: his very brown complexion had a slight olive tinge; the sound of his voice was rather rough, his accent harsh, while his countenance was stern, and its expression became menacing and haughty upon the slightest emotion. His gestures were noble, and his manners distinguished; and he wore the Mexican costume in all its purity.
So soon as the introductions had been made by don Andrés, the party took their seats. The hacendero, after bidding Ludovic sit on his right hand, by his daughter's side, made a sign to the latter. She repeated the _Benedicite_, the guests said _Amen_, and the meal commenced.
The Mexicans, like their Spanish ancestors, are extremely sober; they do not drink during meals. It is only when the dulces or sweets are brought in, that is to say, at dessert, that vessels containing water are placed on the table.
By a delicate attention, don Andrés offered wine to his French guest, who was waited on by his valet, standing behind him, to the general amazement of the company.
The meal was silent, in spite of the repeated efforts of don Andrés to animate the conversation. The count and don Melchior limited themselves to the exchange of a few conventional phrases, and then held their tongues. Doña Dolores was pale, and seemed to be unwell; she ate hardly anything, and did not utter a syllable.