Season 1 Episode 3

"He seems to think he has every reason to be. I am twenty-three and he already sees me an old maid.... It's awfully funny! Do you know what they call me in Lima now? The ****** of the Sun!"

"What does that mean?"

"Aunt Agnes and Aunt Irene will explain better than I can. It's something like one of the Vestals—an old Inca legend."

"H'm, some superstitious rot.... But look here, Maria-Teresa, I'm an awful coward. Do you think your father ..."

"Of course! He'll do anything I like if he is asked at the right moment. We'll be married in three months' time from San Domingo. Truly we will!"

"You dear!... But I'm only a poor devil of an engineer, and he may not think me much of a son-in-law for the Marquis de la Torre."

"Nonsense, you're clever, and I make you a gift of the whole of Peru. There's plenty to do there for an engineer."

"I can hardly believe my luck, Maria-Teresa! That I—I.... But, tell me, how did it all happen?"

"The old, old way. First you are neighbors, or meet by accident. Then you are friends ... just friends, nothing else.... And then ...?"

Their hands joined, and they remained thus for a moment, in silence.

Suddenly, a burst of noise came from the courtyard, and a moment later a hurried knock announced the entrance of an excited employee. At the sight of the stranger, he stopped short, but Maria-Teresa told him to speak. ****, who both understood and spoke Spanish well, listened.

"The Indians are back from the Islands, señorita. There has been trouble between them and the Chinamen. One coolie was killed and three were badly wounded."

Maria-Teresa showed no outward sign of emotion. Her voice hardened as she asked:—

"Where did it happen ... in the Northern Islands?"

"No, at Chincha."

"Then Huascar was there?"

"Yes, señorita. He came back with them, and is outside."

"Send him in to me."

The man went out, signing as he went to a stalwart Indian who walked quietly into the office. Maria-Teresa, back at her desk, hardly raised her eyes. The newcomer, who took off his straw sombrero with a sweep worthy of a hidalgo of Castille, was a Trigullo Indian. These are perhaps the finest tribe of their race and claim descent from Mauco-Capac, first king of the Incas. A mass of black hair, falling nearly to his shoulders, framed a profile which might have been copied from a bronze medallion. His eyes, strangely soft as he looked at the young girl before him, provoked immediate antagonism from ****. He was wrapped in a bright-colored poncho, and a heavy sheath-knife hung from his belt.

"Tell me how it happened," ordered Maria-Teresa without returning the Indian's salute.

Under his rigid demeanor, it was evident that he resented this tone before a stranger. Then he began to speak in Quichua, only to be interrupted and told to use Spanish. The Indian frowned and glanced haughtily at the listening engineer.

"I am waiting," said Maria-Teresa. "So your Indians have killed one of my coolies?"

"The shameless ones laughed because our Indians fired cohetes in honor of the first quarter of the moon."

"I do not pay your Indians to pass their time in setting off fireworks."

"It was the occasion of the Noble Feast of the Moon."

"Yes, I know! The moon, and the stars, and the sun, and every Catholic festival as well! Your Indians do nothing but celebrate. They are lazy, and drunkards. I have stood them, so far because they were your friends, and you have always been a good servant, but this is too much."

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