November 6th
The statement in the Mexican Herald that Mr. Lind had confirmed the report of an ultimatum and the probable failure of negotiations is simply astounding. Turn the light of publicity on Huerta and he is as wary as some wild animal who comes into contact with man for the second time. Whatever he may have been contemplating, these special negotiations are now dead and buried.
There was a big dinner at the Belgian Legation to-night; everything beautifully done, as usual. I sat opposite my host, between von H. and Sir L. Wore the flowered black velvet chiffon, and that black aigrette with the Pocahontas effect in my hair; von H. wanted to know why this delicate Indian tribute. There was no political conversation, as, with the exception of the C.’s, von H., and ourselves, only handsome, well-dressed, and bejeweled members of the Mexican smart set were present. May is nothing if not exclusive, with a perfect flair for the chicheria. His handsome wife is in Paris.
My drawing-room is filled with the beautiful pink geraniums that grow thick on the walls of the Embassy gardens and balconies. Juan, the gardener, who, like all Aztecs, understands flowers, brings them in every other morning, cutting them most effectively with very long stems and many leaves.
“Ship ahoy!” in the harbor of Vera Cruz no longer excites attention. Counting the French and German ships, there are about a dozen in all. Seven belong to us. There were only two—the New Hampshire and the Louisiana—guarding the entrance to the channel when we arrived a month ago. Is the plot thickening?