"The sash, Excellency?" Jon longed to see his master in full regalia once more, and after all, was not this an embassy of a sort? But Rezanov, who already regarded his reflection with some humor, shook his head.
"I'll go as far as decency permits, for no one is so impressed by external magnificence as the Span-iard. But full dress uniform and orders are enough; an ambassador's sash and they might suspect I took them for the children they are. Children are not always fools. My stock is too tight. Remember that I am to dance, and am too tall for most wom-men's pretty little ears. And I doubt if an ear is less thirsty for being so provocatively screened."
Jon, a "prince" whose family had fallen upon evil days long since, but whose thin, clever fingers were no mean inheritance, unwound and readjusted the folds of soft batiste, that most becoming neck ves-ture man has ever worn. He fain would have pressed the matter of the sash, but Rezanov, most indulgent of masters to this devoted servant, was never patient of insistence. Jon also regretted the powdered wig and queue, which he privately thought more befitting a fine gentleman than his own hair, even though the latter were thick and bright. He said tentatively:
"I notice these Californians still wear the hair long; and with their gay ribbons and showy hats look much better no doubt than if they followed a fashion of which it would seem they had not heard --and perhaps do not admire. I ventured to pack two of your excellency's wigs when we were leav-ing St. Petersburg--"
"Good heavens, no!" cried Rezanov, rising to his feet and casting a last impatient glance at the mir-ror. "When a man has escaped from a furnace does he run back of his own accord? My brain would cook under a wig in this climate, and I need all my wits--for more reasons than one." And he went up on deck.
There, while awaiting his horses and escort, he had another glimpse of the happy Arcadian life of the Californians. Over the sand hills through which he had floundered twice that day rode young men in gala attire, a maiden, her attire as brilliant as the sunset along the western summits, on the saddle before them. These saddles were heavy with silver, the blanket beneath was embroidered with both silver and gold. Gay light laughter floated out on the cool evening breeze to the little ship in the harbor.
"It has been a good day," thought Rezanov, low-ering his glass. "It is like her to arrange so charm-ing a finale."
When he arrived at the Presidio the guitars were tinkling and the sala was full of eager and somber faces. The Californians had come early, deter-mined to witness the arrival of the Russians. Very pretty most of the girls were, and by no means a bevy of brunettes. There was hair of every shade of brown, looped over the ears, drawn high and confined by the high comb and the long pins; and Rafaella Sal, with her red hair and gray eyes, was still celebrated as a beauty, although no longer in her first youth--she was twenty-two, and should have been a matron and mother long since! But she looked very handsome and coquettish in her daring yellow frock that no other red head would have dared to wear, and she displayed three ropes of Baja California pearls; one strand being the com-mon possession. The matrons, young and old, wore heavy satins or brocades, either red or yellow, but the maids were in flowered silks, sometimes with coquettish little jacket, generally with long pointed bodice and full flowing skirt. Concha's frock was made in this fashion, but quite different otherwise; an aunt in the City of Mexico being mindful at whiles of the cravings of relatives in exile. It was of a soft shimmering white stuff covered with gold spangles and cut to reveal her young neck and arms.
She stood at the head of the room with her mother as Rezanov entered, and he noticed for the first time how tall she was. She held herself proudly; mischievous twinkle, nor child-like trust, nor flashing coquetry possessed her eyes; these, even more star-like than usual, nevertheless looked upon her guests with a dignified composure. Her lips, her skin, were luminous. In this well-cut evening gown he saw that her figure was superb; and that she could command stateliness as well as vivacity moved her toward a pedestal in his regard that had been occu-pied by few and never for long.
Rezanov, in his splendid uniform and blazing orders, filled the sala with his presence as he walked past the rows of bright critical eyes toward his hostesses. The young lips of the maids parted with delight and the men frowned. For the first time William Sturgis felt the sickness of jealousy instead of its not unagreeable pain. Davidov and Khostov, both handsome and well-bred young men, were also in full naval uniform, and by no means ignored; while Langsdorff, in the severe black of the scholar, was an admirable foil.
Rezanov, wondering at the subtle change in Concha, bowed ceremoniously and murmured:
"You will give me the first dance, senorita?"
"Certainly, Excellency. Are you not the guest of honor?"
She motioned to the Indian musicians, fiddles and guitars fairly leaped to position, and in a mo-ment Rezanov enjoyed the novel delusion of en-circling a girl's floating wraith.
"We can waltz, you see! Are you not sur-prised?"
"It is but one accomplishment the more. I feared a preference for your native dances, but ventured to hope you would teach me."
"They are easy to learn. You will watch us dance the contra-danza after this."
"With whom do you dance it?"
Her black eyelashes were very thick; he barely caught the glance she shot him.
"The Russian bear growls," she said lightly.
"Did you expect to dance every dance with me?"
"I came for no other purpose."
"You would have several duels to fight to-mor-row."
"I have no objection."
"You have fought others, then?" Her voice was the softer with the effort to turn its edge.
"No more than most men, I suppose. May I ask how many have been fought for you?"
"My memory is no better than yours. Why should I burden it with trifles?"
