Don Tadeo was right, when, on seeing General Bustamente pass, he said he was on his way to visit his mistress. It was, in fact, to the residence of the Linda the General was going. On arriving at the gate, one of his men dismounted, and knocked. But no one answered; and at a sign from the General, the soldier knocked louder. But still all remained silent; there was no movement within. He began to feel uneasy. This silence was the more extraordinary from the General's visit having been announced, and he was, consequently, expected. "Oh! oh!" he said, "What is going on here? Knock again, Diego, and knock in a way to make yourself heard!"
The soldier knocked with all his strength, but still uselessly. Don Pancho's brow contracted; he began to fancy some misfortune must have occurred.
"Break open the door!" he cried.
The order was instantly obeyed; and the General, followed by his escort, entered the house. In the Patio all dismounted.
"Be prudent," said the General in a low voice to the corporal who commanded the escort; "place sentinels everywhere, and keep a sharp look-out whilst I search the house."
After giving these orders, the General took his pistols from his holsters, and, followed by some of his lancers, entered the house; but everywhere the silence of death prevailed. After passing through several apartments, he arrived at a door, which, being a little ajar, allowed a stream of light to pass. From the other side of this door proceeded something like stifled groans. With a kick of his foot, one of the lancers dashed open the door; the General entered, and a strange spectacle presented itself to his astonished eyes! Doña Maria, tightly bound, and gagged, was fastened to the foot of a damask bed, saturated with blood. The furniture was broken and disordered, whilst two dead bodies, lying in a pool of blood, made it evident that the room had been the scene of a desperate conflict.
The general ordered the dead bodies to be removed, and then desired to be left alone with the lady. As soon as the lancers had departed he shut the door, and approaching the Linda, he hastened to release her from her bonds. She was senseless.
On turning round to place the pistols he had retained in his hands on the table, he drew back with astonishment, and almost with terror, as he perceived the dagger standing erect in the middle of it. But this instinctive feeling lasted only a moment. He went quickly up to the table, seized the dagger, which he carefully drew out, and eagerly took up the paper it had pinned down.
"The tyrant Don Pancho Bustamente is cited at the expiration of ninety-three days!
"THE DARK-HEARTS."
he read in a loud, harsh tone, and then crushed the paper violently in his hand. "Sangre de Dios! Will these demons always make a mock of me? Oh! they know that I show no mercy, and that those who fall into my hands——"
"Escape!" said a hollow voice, which made him start involuntarily.
He turned sharply round, and beheld the Linda, with her vicious eye fixed upon him with a demoniacal expression. He sprang towards her.
"Thank God!" he cried warmly, "you are again restored to your senses. Are you sufficiently recovered to explain the scene that has taken place here?"
"A terrible scene, Don Pancho!" she replied, in a tremulous voice; "a scene, the bare remembrance of which still freezes me with terror."
"Are you strong enough to describe it to me?"
"I hope so," she replied. "Listen to me attentively, Don Pancho, for what I have to tell concerns you, perhaps, more than me."
"You mean this insolent summons, I suppose?" he remarked, showing it.
She glanced over it, and replied—
"I did not even know that such a paper had been addressed to you. But listen to me attentively."
"In the first place, have the goodness to explain to me what you just now said."
"Everything in its turn, General; I will not fail to explain everything, for the vengeance I thirst for must be complete."
"Oh!" he said, a flash of hatred gleaming from his eye, "set your heart at ease on that head,—whilst avenging myself, I will avenge you."
The Linda related to the General what had passed between her and Don Tadeo in the fullest details—how the Dark-Hearts had snatched him from her hands, and the threats they had addressed to her on leaving her. But, with that talent which all women possess, of making themselves appear innocent in everything, she represented as a miraculous piece of awkwardness on the part of the soldiers charged to shoot him, the fact of Don Tadeo being alive after his execution. She said that, attracted by the hope of avenging himself upon her, whom he suspected of being no stranger to his condemnation, he had introduced himself unseen into her house, where by a strange chance she happened to be alone, having that evening permitted her servants to be present at aromeria(a fête), from which they were not to return before three o'clock.
The General had not for an instant the idea of doubting the veracity of his mistress. The situation in which he had found her,—the incredible news of the resurrection of his most implacable enemy, altogether so confused his thoughts, that suspicion had no time to enter his mind. He strode about the room with hasty steps, revolving in his head the most extravagant projects for seizing Don Tadeo, and, above all, for annihilating the Dark-Hearts,—those never-to-be-caught Proteuses, who so incessantly crossed his path, thwarted all his plans, and always escaped him. He plainly saw what additional strength the escape of Don Tadeo would give to the patriots, and how much it would complicate his political embarrassments, by placing at their head a resolute man who could have no longer any considerations to preserve, but would wage war to the knife with him. His perplexity was extreme; he instinctively felt that the ground beneath him was mined, that he was walking over a volcano, but he had no power to denounce to public opprobrium the enemies who conspired his ruin. The recital made by his mistress had produced the effect of a thunderclap upon him; he knew not what measures to employ in order to counteract the numerous plots in action against him on all sides, and simultaneously. The Linda did not take her eyes off him for a moment, but watched upon his countenance the various feelings aroused by what she told him.
We will, in a few words, introduce to the reader this personage, who will play so important a part in the course of the following history.[1]General Don Pancho Bustamente, who has left in Chili a reputation for cruelty so terrible that he is generally calledEl Verdugo, or the executioner, was a man of from thirty-five to thirty-six years of age, although he looked near fifty, a little above the middle height, well made, and of good carriage, announcing altogether great corporeal strength. His features were tolerably regular, but his prominent forehead, his grey eyes deeply set beneath the brows, and close to his hook nose, his large mouth and high cheek bones, gave him something of a resemblance to a bird of prey. His chin was square, an indication of obstinacy; his hair and moustache, beginning to be streaked with grey, were trained and cut in military fashion. He wore the magnificent uniform, covered at every seam with gold embroidery, of a general officer.
Don Bustamente was the son of his own works, which was in his favour. At first a simple soldier, he had, by exemplary conduct and more than common talents, raised himself, step by step, to the highest rank of the army, and had in the last instance been named minister-at-war. Then the jealousy which had been silent whilst he was confounded with the crowd, was unchained against him. The General, instead of despising calumnies which might have died out of themselves, gave them some degree of foundation, by inaugurating a system of severity and cruelty. Devoured by an ambition which nothing could satisfy, all means were deemed good by him for the attainment of an object he secretly aimed at, which was the overthrow of the republic and government of Chili, and the formation of Bolivia and Araucania into one state, of which he would cause himself to be proclaimed Protector—an object which, besides the almost insurmountable difficulties it presented, ever appeared—owing to the universal hatred which the General had aroused against himself—to slip further from his grasp each time he thought he was about grasping it.
At the moment we bring him on the scene, he found himself in one of the most critical circumstances of his political career. He had in vain shot the patriotsen masse—conspiracies, as always happens in such cases, succeeded each other without interruption, and the system of terror which he had inaugurated, far from intimidating the population, appeared, on the contrary, to urge them on to revolt. Secret societies were formed; and one of these, the most powerful and the most terrible, that of the Dark-Hearts, enveloped him in invisible nets in which he struggled in vain. He foresaw that if he did not hasten on thecoup d'étathe meditated, he should be lost beyond redemption. After a rather long silence, the General placed himself by the side of the Linda.
"We will be avenged!" he said, in a deep tone; "be but patient."
"Oh!" she replied, bitterly, "my vengeance has commenced!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I have caused Doña Rosario del Valle, the woman Don Tadeo de Leon loves so passionately, to be carried off."
"You havedonethat?" said the General.
"Yes, and in ten minutes she will be here."
"Oh! oh!" he exclaimed; "and do you mean to keep her with you?"
"With me!" she cried; "No, I thank you, General. I hear that the Pehuenches are very fond of white women; I will make them a present of her."
"Oh!" Don Pancho muttered, "women will be always our masters! they alone know how to revenge themselves! But," he added aloud, "have you no fear lest the man to whom you have confided this mission should betray you?"
She smiled with terrible irony,
"No," she said; "that man hates Don Tadeo more than I do, if that be possible; he is working out his own vengeance."
At the same instant steps were heard in the chamber preceding the room.
"You will see, General—here is my emissary. Come in!" the Linda cried.
A man appeared; his face was pale and haggard; and his clothes, torn and disordered, were stained in various places with blood.
"Well!" she exclaimed, in a tone of intense anxiety.
"All has failed," answered the man, breathless with haste and terror.
"What!" the Linda shouted, with a cry like that of a wild beast.
"There were five of us," the man continued, quite unmoved, "and we carried off theseñorita. All went on well till within a short distance from this house, when we were attacked by four demons, who came I know not whence."
"And you did not defend yourselves, miserable cowards!" interrupted the General violently.
The bandit gave him a cold look, and continued impassively—
"Three of our number are dead, and the leader and myself wounded."
"And the girl?" the Linda asked passionately.
"The girl was recaptured by our opponents. The Englishman has sent me to you to learn if you still wish him to carry off Doña Rosario?"
"Would he attempt it again?"
"Yes. And this time, he says, he is certain to succeed if the conditions are the same."
A smile of contempt played round the lips of the courtezan.
"Repeat to him this," she replied; "not only shall he receive the hundred ounces if he succeeds, but, still further, he shall have a hundred more; and that he may be in no doubt of my promise," she added, rising and taking from a drawer a rather heavy bag which she handed to the bandit, "give him this; there is the half of the sum, but bid him despatch!"
The man bowed.
"As to you, Juanito," she continued, "as soon as you have acquitted yourself of this mission, return, for I shall, perhaps, want you here. Begone!"
The bandit disappeared instantly.
"Who is that man?" the General asked.
"A poor devil whom I saved some years ago from certain death. He is devoted to me, body and soul."
"Hum!" said the general, "he has rather too cunning an eye not to be a rogue."
The Linda shrugged her shoulders.
"You are mistrustful of everybody," she said.
"That is the way not to be deceived."
"Or to be deceived the more easily."
"Perhaps so. Well, you see this abduction, so admirably planned, and the success of which was certain, has failed."
"I can only repeat what you yourself said to me just now."
"What is that?"
"Patience! But, pray, what are your present plans?" The General rose.
"Whilst you are carrying on against our enemies," he said, in a low, stern tone, "a guerilla warfare of ambuscades and treacheries, I, on my part, will wage an open war against them—a war in the face of the sun, but as merciless as yours. Their blood shall flow in streams over all the territories of the Republic. The Dark-Hearts have summoned me in ninety-three days. Well, I take up the gauntlet they have thrown to me."
"That is well!" the Linda replied. "And now let us so arrange our plans that they may not fail like their predecessors. We must come to an end with these miserable plotters, and in doing so, take a revenge that will make an impression on others."
"It shall be a vengeance! I will stake my head on the game. Oh," he added, "I hold them! I have found the means I sought to make them all fall into my hands; let them sleep for a while in deceitful security, but their awakening shall be terrible!"
And, having saluted the Linda with the greatest courtesy, the General retired.
"I leave you a few soldiers to watch over your safety till the return of your servants," he said, as he went out.
"Thank you, thank you!" she replied, with a bland smile.
The Linda, when left alone, instead of seeking the repose so necessary after the excitement of the night, remained plunged in deep thought. At sunrise she was still in the same place, in the same position. She was still reflecting, but her features became animated; a sinister smile curled her pale lips; and her eyes, though apparently fixed upon vacancy, emitted portentous flashes. Suddenly she sprang up, and passing her hand rapidly over her brow, as if to efface its wrinkles, she cried, in a tone of triumph—
"And I, too, will succeed!"
[1]Reasons of the highest consideration oblige us to change the names and the portraits of the personages of this history, as the majority still exist. But we vouch for the correctness of the facts we relate.
[1]Reasons of the highest consideration oblige us to change the names and the portraits of the personages of this history, as the majority still exist. But we vouch for the correctness of the facts we relate.
When the young lady was delivered, the four men set off as fast as they could go, with regard to her ease. In ten minutes they were out of the city, and with the change of the road their speed was increased. The route they took was that which leads to Talca.
"Eh, eh!" Valentine said, laughing, to his foster brother; "we seem to be playing at prisoners' bars. We enter the city by one gate, to leave it immediately by another. We shall not have an opportunity of seeing the capital of Chili this time."
With the exception of these few words, to which Louis only replied by a careless shrug of the shoulders, no other conversation took place during the hour which their rapid journey lasted. By the pale light of the moon the trees on each side of the road seemed to defile like a legion of melancholy phantoms. Ere long the white walls of achacra(large farm) stood out upon the horizon.
"Here we are," said Don Gregorio, pointing with his finger.
They reached the house in a few minutes. The gate was open, but a man was standing evidently on the watch. The fugitives dashed like a hurricane into thepatio, and the gates were immediately closed behind them.
"What has happened, Tio Pepito?" Don Gregorio asked, before he was quite off his horse, of the man who appeared to have expected him.
"Nothing,mi amo" (my master), "nothing of consequence," replied Tio Pepito, a little thick-set man, with a round face, lit up by two grey eyes, sparkling with cunning.
"Have not the persons I expected arrived?"
"Pardon me,mi amo. They have been at thechacramore than an hour. They say they must begone immediately; they are waiting for you impatiently."
"That's well. Announce my arrival to them, and tell them I shall be at their service in two or three minutes."
The mayoral, for this man was the major-domo of thechacra, entered the house without reply. Don Tadeo also, who seemed to know perfectly well where he was, disappeared, bearing the young girl in his arms. The two Frenchmen were left alone with the chacrero, who advanced towards them.
"Now that you are, as we suppose, for the present at least, in safety, sir," said Valentine, "we have only to take our leave of you."
"Not so!" Don Gregorio exclaimed; "it must not be so.Diable! as you Frenchmen say," he added, smiling; "chance does not so often procure us such friends as you, to allow us to part with you thus when we have met you. You will remain here, if you please. Our acquaintance must not terminate so."
"If our continuing here can be of any service to you," Louis replied, courteously, "we are at your command."
"Thank you," he said, in a slightly agitated voice, and pressing their hands warmly; "I shall never forget that I owe to you the lives of myself and my friend. In what way can I be of service to you?"
"Well," Valentine said, laughing, "in every way, and no way, as it may happen, caballero."
"Explain yourself," Don Gregorio replied.
"Dame!it is clear enough; we are strangers in this country."
"When did you arrive?" the Chilian said, examining them attentively.
"Faith! very recently. You are the first persons we have spoken to."
"That is well," Gregorio said, slowly. "I told you that I was at your service, did I not?"
"Yes, and we sincerely thank you; although we hope never to have occasion to remind you of this obliging offer."
"I perfectly appreciate your delicacy; but a service like the one you have rendered me and my friend is an eternal bond. Take no heed of your future fortune, it is made."
"Pardon me, pardon me!" said Valentine, earnestly; "we do not understand one another at all; you mistake us. We are not men who expect to be paid for having acted as our hearts dictated. You owe us nothing."
"I do not propose or pretend to pay you, gentlemen. I only wish, in order to attach you to me, to propose to you to share my good or evil fortune; in a word, I offer myself to you as a brother."
"In that case we at once accede," said Louis, "and will endeavour to prove ourselves worthy of such an offer."
"I have no doubt you will. Only I beg you not to be misled by my words; the life I am leading at present is full of perils."
"I can suppose that," said Valentine, with a laugh. "The scene at which we have been present, and thedenoûmentof which we perhaps hastened, makes it pretty evident that your existence is not of the most peaceful nature."
"What you have as yet seen is nothing. Do you know nobody in this country?"
"Nobody."
"Your political opinions, then, are unformed?"
"As regards Chili, completely."
"Bravo!" Don Gregorio exclaimed, with delight; "if we agree on that point our compact will be for life and death."
"We do agree," said Valentine, laughing; "and if you conspire—"
"Well?" the Chilian asked, fixing an inquiring look upon him.
"Why, we will conspire, too, pardieu! That is agreed."
The three men exchanged a cordial pressure of the hand, and then Don Gregorio called the major-domo to conduct them to the chamber which was prepared for them.
"Good night! or rather good morning!" he said, on quitting them.
"Come!" said Valentine, rubbing his hands, "matters are going on well. We shall not want for amusement here."
"Hum!" Louis replied, with a tone of something like uneasiness; "conspire!"
"Well, and what better?" said Valentine. "Does that frighten you? Remember, my friend, that the best fishing is in troubled waters."
"In that case," Louis remarked, taking up the gay humour of his companion, "if my presentiments are just, ours will be miraculous."
"I expect so, firmly," said Valentine, bidding good night to the major-domo, who retired, after bowing respectfully.
Thecuarto(chamber) in which the young men found themselves, was whitewashed, and entirely destitute of furniture, with the exception of two oak frames furnished with dressed hides, which served as beds, a massive table with twisted feet, and four seats covered with leather. In a corner of the room burned a little green wax light before a badly-engraved print supposed to represent the Virgin.
"Eh!" said Louis, casting a glance around him, "our friends, the Chilians, do not seem to consult comfort much."
"Bah!" Valentine replied, "we have all that we require. A man can sleep soundly anywhere when he is fatigued. This chamber is better than the bivouac we were threatened with."
"You are right. Let us take a little rest then, for we don't know what tomorrow has in reserve for us."
In a quarter of an hour they were both fast asleep. At the moment the Frenchmen went into the house with the major-domo, Don Tadeo came out by another door.
"Well?" Don Gregorio asked, anxiously.
"She is asleep. Her terror is abated," Don Tadeo replied. "The joy she experienced at seeing me, whom she believed dead, brought about a very salutary crisis."
"I am glad to hear it! In that quarter, then, we may be at ease?"
"Completely."
"Do you feel yourself strong enough to be present at an important interview?"
"Is it necessary that I should be present?"
"I think it quite right that you should hear the communications that one of my emissaries is about to make me."
"It is very imprudent of you," said Don Tadeo, "to receive such a man in your own house!"
"Oh! do not alarm yourself! I have known him for a long time. Besides, he is not aware whose house he is in; he was brought hither blinded, by two of our brethren. In addition to which, we shall be masked."
"Well! since you desire it, I am at your commands."
The two friends, after having covered their faces with black velvet masks, entered the apartment in which were the persons who waited for them. This apartment, which served as a dining room, was very large, and furnished with a long table; it was faintly illumined by two sconces, in which burned small candles of yellow tallow, yielding so doubtful a light that objects could be seen but indistinctly. Three men, wrapped in variegated ponchos, and with broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes, were carelessly smoking their slender papelitos, whilst warming themselves round a copperbrasero,placed in the middle of the apartment, and in which some olive-stones were slowly burning. At the entrance of the leaders of the Dark-Hearts, these men rose.
"Why," asked Don Tadeo, who at the first glance recognized the emissary, "why did you not wait, Don Pedro, for the meeting tomorrow, at theQuinta Verde,to communicate to the council the revelations you have to make?"
The man thus named as Don Pedro bowed respectfully. He was an individual of about thirty-five years of age. He was tall, and his countenance, as sharp as the blade of a knife, wore a cunning, roguish expression.
"What I have to state only indirectly concerns the Dark-Hearts," he said.
"Then, of what importance is it to us?" Don Gregorio interrupted him.
"But it greatly concerns the leaders, particularly the King of Darkness."
"Explain yourself then, for he is before you," Don Tadeo remarked, taking a step forward.
Pedro darted a look at him which seemed to endeavour to penetrate through the tissue of his mask.
"What I have to say will be brief," he replied,—"I leave to you the care of judging of its importance. General Don Bustamente will be present at the meeting tomorrow."
"Are you sure of that?" the two conspirators exclaimed with a degree of astonishment that denoted incredulity.
"It was I who persuaded him to do so."
"You?"
"Yes, I."
"Are you ignorant, then," Don Tadeo exclaimed with great warmth, "in what manner we punish traitors?"
"I am no traitor; on the contrary, I deliver into your hands your most implacable enemy."
Don Tadeo replied only by a suspicious glance.
"The General then is ignorant?"
"Of everything," said Don Pedro.
"With what purpose, then, does he wish to introduce himself among us?"
"Can you not guess? For that of obtaining your secret."
"But he risks his life."
"Do you forget that every adept must be introduced by a sponsor, who alone knows him? No one sees his face. Well,Iintroduce him," he added, with a smile of strange significance.
"That is true. But if he should suspect you of treachery?"
"I must undergo the consequences; but he will not suspect me."
"Why not?" Don Gregorio asked.
"Because," the spy replied, with a cynical smile, "for ten years the General has employed me, and during those ten years he has had only cause to praise me for the services I have rendered him."
A momentary silence followed.
"Here!" said Don Gregorio, after a long pause, "this time it is not ten ounces, but twenty, that you have earned. Continue to be faithful to us."
And he placed a heavy purse in his hands. The spy seized it with a gesture of avidity, and concealed it quickly under his poncho.
"You shall have no reproach to make me," he replied, with a bow.
"I hope we shall not," said Don Tadeo, with difficulty repressing an expression of disgust. "Only remember, we should be merciless."
"I know it."
"In that case, farewell."
"Farewell till tomorrow."
The men who had brought him, and who during the conversation had remained motionless, at a sign from Don Gregorio approached the spy, bandaged his eyes again, and led him away.
"Is that fellow a traitor?" asked Don Gregorio, as he listened to the retreating steps of the horses.
"It is our duty to suppose him one," the King of Darkness replied, gravely.
The two friends, instead of seeking the repose which must have been so necessary to them, talked together for a long time, in order to arrange all the measures of safety which were required by the importance of the scene about to take place on the morrow at the meeting of the conspirators. In the meantime Don Pedro had been quickly led back to Santiago. On arriving at one of the gates, his guides left him, disappearing in opposite directions. As soon as he was alone, he removed the handkerchief from his eyes.
"Hum!" he said, with a sinister smile, as he tossed up in his right hand the purse Don Gregorio had given him. "Twenty ounces make a purse of gold. Now let us see if General Bustamente is as liberal as his enemies. By the Virgin! the news I carry him are worth something to him! Let us try to get the best price for them."
After having cast his eyes around to see if the coast was clear, he set off at a sharp trot towards the government palace, muttering to himself—
"Bah! times are hard. If a man did not manoeuvre a little, he would find no means of bringing up his family honestly."
This reflection, of a rather dubious morality, was accompanied by a grimace, the expression of which would have given Don Tadeo cause for suspicion if he had seen it.
On the morrow the two Frenchmen were awakened by the rays of the sun. The day promised to be a brilliant one, for there was not a cloud in the heavens. A light vapour, full of penetrating odours, arose slowly from the earth, drawn up by the beams of the sun, whose warm influence increased every minute. The morning breeze refreshed the air, and invited them to inhale it. The young men, perfectly recovered from their fatigue, sprang cheerfully from their humble beds and dressed themselves in haste.
The chacra, of which they had only a glimpse the night before by moonlight, was an immense farm, consisting of extensive buildings, and surrounded by fields in full cultivation. The greatest animation prevailed everywhere. Peons, mounted on half wild horses, were driving out the cattle to the artificial meadows, whilst others were running about after the horses they were getting together, in order to lead them to the drinking place. In the patio the major-domo was overlooking the women and girls engaged in milking. In short, this residence, which had appeared to them so silent and dismal the night before, assumed by daylight an appearance of life and cheerfulness delightful to contemplate.
The cries of the peons mingled with the lowing of the cattle, the barking of the dogs, and the crowing of the cocks, and formed that melodious concert which is only to be heard on a farm, and which always rejoices the heart.
It is a justice that we willingly render here to the Chilian republic when we say that it alone of the southern states of America appears to understand that the wealth of a country consists not in the number of its mines, but in the encouragement given to cultivation; and that this country, while possessing rich mines of gold, silver, and precious stones, only places their produce in the second rank, whilst it reserves its principal solicitude for agriculture. Chili is as yet young as a nation. There manufactures and the arts are in their infancy; but the farms are numerous, the fields well cultivated, and soon this country will be called upon, there is no doubt, through its system of labour, to become the entrepôt of the other American powers, which it already provides in a great measure with corn and wine, from Cape Horn to California.
Behind the chacra extended a well-kept up garden, in which oranges, pomegranates, and citrons, planted in the open ground, grew amidst limes, apples, plums, and all the other fruits of Europe. Louis was agreeably surprised at the aspect of this garden, with its numerous alleys, in which a thousand birds of brilliant colours warbled gaily under the foliage of the tufted thickets of jasmine and honeysuckle. Whilst Valentine went, followed by Cæsar, to look at the operations of the peons and smoke his cigar in the patio, Louis felt himself led by his dreamy spirit to indulge in poetical reveries, and to seek a few minutes' solitude in the Eden which lay before him. Urged by an unknown power, intoxicated by the sweet odours which embalmed the atmosphere, he glided into the garden, casting around him a vaguely questioning look.
The young man went dreaming along the garden walks, mechanically pulling to pieces with his fingers a rose which he had gathered. He had walked thus for nearly an hour, when he was roused by a slight noise among the leaves, at a short distance from him. He instinctively raised his head, just in time to catch a glimpse of a light white robe which was disappearing among the trees, but too late to completely distinguish the person who wore it, and who appeared to trip over the dewy grass like a white phantom. At the sight of this mysterious apparition the young man felt his heart bound in his breast; he stopped trembling, and the emotion he felt was so powerful, that he was forced to lean against a tree for support.
"What can be the matter with me?" he murmured to himself, as he wiped the cold perspiration from his brow. "I am mad!" he continued, with a forced smile. "I think I see her everywhere. Heavens! I love her so deeply that, in spite of myself, my imagination brings her before me unceasingly. That girl, of whom I just caught a glimpse, is probably the same we last night so miraculously saved. Poor child! Fortunately she did not see me; I should have frightened her. Better avoid her by going out of the garden; in my present state I should alarm her."
And, as always happens in such cases, he set off, on the contrary, in the very footsteps of her he had only caught a glimpse of, but whom, by one of the instinctive feelings of sympathy which come from God, and which science can never explain, he had nevertheless recognized.
The young girl, reclining in the depths of an arbour, like a hummingbird in its bed of muss, with a pale face, and her eyes cast down to the earth, was listening, pensive and sad, to the joyous melodies which the birds chanted in her absent ear. All at once, a slight noise made her start and raise her head. The Count was before her! She uttered a faint cry, and endeavoured to fly.
"Don Louis!" she exclaimed.
She had recognized him. The young man sank on his knees at the entrance of the arbour.
"Oh!" he cried, in a voice trembling with emotion, and with an accent of the most earnest entreaty, "for pity's sake, remain, madam!"
"Don Louis!" she repeated, already recovered, and feigning the most perfect indifference. Young girls, even the purest, possess in a high degree the talent of concealing their feelings, and of deceiving persons with regard to the emotions they really experience.
"Yes, it is I, madam," he continued, with an accent of the most respectful passion; "I, who, to see you again, have abandoned everything!"
The young lady displayed some slight surprise.
"For Heaven's sake!" he resumed, "allow me once more, if but for an instant, to contemplate your adored features! Oh!" he added, with a look of deep affection, "my heart had told me you were here, before my eyes had perceived you."
"Caballero," she said, in a tremulous voice, "I do not understand you."
"Oh, fear nothing from me, madam!" he interrupted her vehemently; "my respect for you is as profound as——
"Pray, caballero," she said, earnestly, "rise; if anyone should surprise you thus!"
"Madam," he replied, "the avowal I have to make to you, requires me to remain in the position of a suppliant!"
"Oh, caballero!"
"I love you, madam!" he said, in broken accents; "I know not what gives me the boldness to pronounce a word which in France I did not venture to breathe in your ear, and which I have never allowed to pass from my heart to my lips. But even if you banished me from your presence for ever, once again I must tell you that I love you, madam; and if you do not return my love, I shall die!"
The maiden looked at him for a moment with a melancholy air; a tear trembled on her long eyelashes; she took a step towards him, and holding out her hand, upon which he imprinted a burning kiss, said softly,—
"Rise."
The Count obeyed. Doña Rosario sunk back upon the bench behind her, and appeared plunged in profound and painful meditation. Both remained silent, Louis watching her with intense anxiety, and a throbbing heart. At length she raised her head, and exhibited a countenance bathed in tears.
"Caballero," she said in a melancholy tone, "if God has permitted us to meet once again, it is because, in His divine goodness, He has judged that a decisive explanation should take place between us."
The young man appeared anxious to speak.
"Do not interrupt me," she continued, "or I shall not have the courage to finish what I have to say to you. You love me, Louis; your presence here is an incontestable proof of it—you love me; and yet how many times, during my short residence in France, have you cursed me in secret, accusing me of coquetry, or, at least, of unaccountable levity!"
"Madam!"
"Oh!" she said, with a faint smile, "since you have avowed your love for me, I will be frank with you, Louis; and although it be my duty to deprive you of all future hope, I am at least anxious to justify the past, and leave you a remembrance of me that nothing can tarnish!"
"Oh, madam! why do you repeat such things to me?"
"Why?" she said, with a look full of melancholy, and in a voice harmonious as the sigh of an Æolian harp, "because I have faith in that love, so warm, so young, so true; which neither daily indignities nor vast distances have been able to conquer—because, in short, I also love you! do you not plainly see that, Louis?"
On hearing this confession, so ingenuous, and made in a tone so sorrowful that the young girl appeared no longer to belong to earth, the Count felt struck by a terrible presentiment; his heart was wrung with doubtful agony. Trembling, bewildered, he gazed on her with the fixed and desperate eye of one condemned to death, who is listening to the reading of his sentence.
"Yes!" she resumed, with feverish eagerness; "yes, I love you, Louis, I shall always love you; but never, never, can we be united."
"Oh, that is impossible!" he cried, raising his head vehemently.
"Listen to me," she said, in a tone of authority; "I do not order you to forget me, Louis; a love like yours is eternal: alas! I feel that mine will last as long as my life. You see, my friend, I am frank; I do not speak to you as a maiden ought to speak; I unfold my heart before you, leaving you to read it as you would your own. Well, this love, which would be for us the height of felicity,—this communion of two spirits, which blend with each other to form one blissful whole,—this boundless happiness must be dispersed for ever, without chance of recovery, without hesitation!"
"Oh, I cannot consent!" he exclaimed, in a voice broken by sobs.
"But it must be so, I tell you!" she continued, wild with anguish. "Great Heaven! what more do you require of me? Must I confess everything to you? Well, then, since it must be so, know that I am a miserable creature, condemned from my birth, pursued by a terrible hatred, which follows me step by step, which watches me incessantly; and some day—tomorrow, perhaps today—will crush me without mercy! Obliged to change my name constantly; flying from city to city, from country to country; wherever I may go, this implacable enemy, whom I do not know, and against whom I cannot defend myself, pursues me without intermission."
"But I will defend you!" the young man said, with confident energy.
"And I, on my part, am not willing that you should die!" she replied, with an accent of ineffable tenderness. "To attach yourself to me is to court destruction. I went to France to seek a place of refuge. I was obliged to quit that hospitable land with the greatest suddenness. Arrived here only a few weeks since, but for you, last night, I should have been lost! No, no, I am condemned; I know I am, and I am resigned; but I will not drag you down in my fall! Alas! I am, perhaps, doomed to suffer tortures still more horrible than those I have hitherto endured! Oh, Louis, in the name of the love which you have for me, and which I fully share, leave me the supreme consolation in my wretchedness of knowing that you are safe from the torments which overwhelm me!"
At this moment Valentine's voice was heard at a short distance, and Cæsar came wagging his tail to his master. Doña Rosario gathered a blossom of thesuchilwhich grew close to them, and presented it to the young man, after having for a moment inhaled its sweet odour.
"Here," she said, "my friend, accept this flower, the only memorial, alas! that will remain with you of me."
The young man concealed the flower in his bosom.
"Someone is coming," she continued, in broken accents. "Swear, Louis! swear to quit this country as soon as possible, without endeavouring to see me again."
The Count hesitated.
"Oh!" he cried, "some day, perhaps,——"
"Never on earth. Have I not told you that I am condemned? Swear, Louis, that at least I may hope to meet you again in heaven."
She pronounced these words with such a tone of despair, that the young man, overcome, in spite of himself, made a gesture of assent, and let the almost inarticulate words escape his lips,—
"I swear to do so!"
"Thanks! thanks!" she cried wildly, and hurriedly imprinting a kiss upon the brow of her prostrated lover, she disappeared with the lightness of a fawn amidst a thicket of standard roses, at the moment when Valentine became visible at the turning of the walk.
"Why brother," the soldier said gaily, "what the deuce are you about here, at the bottom of the garden? Breakfast is waiting for you. I have been looking for you this hour; and if it had not been for Cæsar, I should not have found you now."
The Count turned towards him, his face lathed in tears, and threw his arms round his neck.
"Brother! brother!" he cried, in an accent of despair; "I am the most unhappy of men!"
Valentine looked at him in astonishment. The Count had fainted.
"What on earth is all this about?" said the soldier, casting a suspicious look around him, and laying his foster brother, who was motionless as a corpse, gently upon a grassy bank.
Not far from Rio Claro, a charming little city, built in a delicious situation between Santiago and Talca, there was then, and probably is still, upon a hill commanding an extensive view, a prettyquinta, with white walls and green shutters, coquettishly concealed from indiscreet eyes by a thicket of trees of various sorts—oaks, acajous, maples, palms, aloes, cactus, &c., which sprang up and intertwined within each other in such a fashion around it as to form an almost impregnable rampart. It is difficult to explain how, in such a period of convulsions and overthrows, this delicious habitation had hitherto escaped, as if by a miracle, from the devastation and pillage which incessantly menaced it, and which fell without intermission around it, enveloping it, as it were, in a network of ruins, without, however, having ever troubled that tranquil dwelling, although the human tempest had frequently howled beneath its walls, and, in the shade of night, it had often seen the red torches of incendiaries gleam; all at once, though no one knew why, and as if by enchantment, the cries of murder ceased, and the torches became extinguished and harmless in the hands of the men who, a minute before, had waved them about madly. This habitation was named the "Quinta Verde."
By what prodigy had this house, so simple in appearance, and so like the rest, avoided the common fate and remained alone, perhaps, of all the houses of the Chilian plains, calm and tranquil in the midst of general confusion, equally respected by the two parties contending for power, and surveying carelessly from the top of its prettymiradorthe revolution raging at its feet, which carried away, as in an infernal whirlwind, cities, villages, houses, fortunes, and families? This is what many people, at various periods, had been anxious to know, though they had never been able to find out. Nobody ostensibly inhabited this quinta, in which, on certain days, noises were heard which filled with a superstitious terror the worthyguasosliving in the neighbourhood.
The day after that on which the events occurred which open this history, the heat had been oppressive, the atmosphere heavy, and the sun had gone down amidst a flood of purple vapour, the precursors of a storm which burst with fury as soon as night had completely closed in. The wind bent down the trees as it whistled through them, the collision of the branches producing a melancholy sound; the heavens were black, not a star was to be seen; and large grey clouds coursed rapidly across the zenith, covering all nature with a leaden pall. In the distance resounded the howlings of wild beasts, among which was occasionally mingled the hoarse, sharp barking of stray dogs.
Nine o'clock struck slowly from a distant steeple; the sound of the metal, repeated by the echoes from the hills, vibrated with a plaintive tone over the deserted landscape. The moon, fitfully emerging from behind the clouds which veiled her, spread for a few seconds a pale and trembling light over the scene, giving it a fantastic aspect. This fugitive ray of doubtful light, nevertheless, enabled a small troop of horsemen, who were painfully ascending a winding path on the side of a mountain, to distinguish, at a few paces before them, the black outline of a house, from the top window of which beamed like a pharos a red, uncertain light. This house was the "Quinta Verde."
At about four or five paces in advance of the troop rode two horsemen, muffled carefully in their cloaks, the flaps of their hats pulled down over their eyes, appeared, in the darkness, to be a needless precaution; but it, nevertheless, showed that these personages were very anxious not to be recognized.
"Heaven be praised!" said one of these horsemen to his companion, as he pulled up his horse, to look searchingly around him, as far as the darkness would permit; "I hope we shall soon be there."
"In a quarter of an hour, at latest, General, we shall be at the end of our journey."
"Do not let us stop, then," the one addressed as General said; "I am impatient to penetrate into this abominable den."
"One moment, General!" the first speaker continued. "It is my duty to warn your Excellency that there is still time to retreat; and that would, perhaps, be the more prudent step."
"Please to observe this, Diego," said the General, fixing upon his companion a look which gleamed in the semi-obscurity like that of a tiger-cat—"in the circumstances in which I am placed, prudence, as you understand the word, would be cowardice. I am quite aware what I am called upon to do by the confidence placed in me by my fellow citizens; our position is most critical: the liberal reaction is raising its head in all quarters, and we must put an end to this ever-reviving hydra. The news of Don Tadeo's escape from death has spread with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder; all the malcontents of whom he is the leader, are in almost open action; if I were to hesitate to strike a great blow and crush the head of the serpent which hisses in my ears, it would tomorrow, perhaps, be too late; hesitation has always been the ruin of statesmen in affairs of importance."
"And yet, General, if the man who has furnished you with this information should—"
"Be a traitor? Well, that is possible—ay, even probable; therefore, I have neglected nothing that may neutralize the consequences of a treachery which I foresee."
"By the Virgin! General, in your place, however—"
"Thank you, old comrade, thank you for your solicitude; but enough of this subject, you ought to know me well enough to be sure that I shall never flinch from my duty."
"I have nothing more to do, then, but to wish your Excellency well through your undertaking; for you know you must arrive alone at the Quinta Verde, and I can escort you no farther."
"Very well, wait here then; make your men dismount for a time, keep a sharp watch, and execute punctually the orders I have given you. I am going on."
Diego bowed respectfully, but with an air of anxiety, and withdrew his hand, which had been placed on the bridle of the General's horse. The latter more carefully enveloped himself in his cloak, the folds of which had become too loose, and gave the usual jockey signal to excite his horse. At this well-known sound the horse pricked up its ears, and being thoroughbred, although fatigued, set off at a gallop.
After a few minutes of this rapid travelling, the General stopped; but it appeared as if his journey was completed, for, dismounting, he threw the bridle on his horse's neck, with as little care what became of it as if it had been a hack post-horse, and walked with a firm step towards the house, which he had held in view some time, and from which he was now not more than ten paces distant. This was soon cleared. When he reached the gate, he stood for a second and looked around him, as if endeavouring to penetrate the darkness; but all was calm and silent. In spite of himself, the General was seized with that vague fear which takes possession of the most courageous man when in face of the unknown. But General Bustamente, whom the reader has no doubt recognized, was too old a soldier to suffer himself to be mastered long by an impression, however strong it might be; with him this had lasted but an instant, and he almost immediately recovered his usual coolness.
"What the devil! amIafraid?" he murmured, with an ironical smile, and going boldly up to the gate, he knocked three times at equal intervals with the pummel of his sword. In an instant his arms were seized by invisible hands, a bandage was placed over his eyes, and a voice, faint as a breath, murmured in his ear—
"Make no resistance, twenty poniards are at your breast; at the first cry, at the least opposition, you are a dead man. Reply categorically to our questions."
"All these threats are needless," the General replied, in a calm voice; "as I came here of my own free will, I can have no intention of resisting—ask, and I will answer."
"What do you come to seek here?" the voice said.
"The Dark-Hearts."
"Are you ready to appear in their presence?"
"I am," the General replied, still impassive.
"Do you dread nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Let your sword fall."
The General quitted his hold of his sword, and felt at the same moment that his pistols were taken from him.
"Now, step forward without fear," said the voice.
The prisoner found himself instantly at liberty.
"In the name of Christ, who died upon the cross for the salvation of the world, Dark-Hearts, receive me among the number of your brethren!" the General then said, in a low and firm voice.
The double gates of the Quinta Verde flew open before him, and two masked men, each holding a dark lantern in his hand, the focus of which he directed on the stranger's face, appeared in the entrance.
"There is still time," said one of the unknown; "if your heart be not firm, you may retreat."
"My heart is firm."
"Come on, then, as you think yourself worthy to share our glorious task, but tremble if you have the least intention of betraying us," said the masked man, in a deep, sonorous voice.
The General felt, notwithstanding the recklessness of his character, a cold shudder run through his limbs at these words; but he quickly surmounted this involuntary emotion.
"It is for traitors to tremble," he replied; "for my part, I have nothing to fear."
And he boldly stepped into the Quinta Verde, the doors of which closed after him with a dull, heavy sound. The bandage which covered his eyes, and which had prevented those who had interrogated him from recognizing him, notwithstanding their efforts to do so, was then removed. After proceeding for more than a quarter of an hour along a circular corridor, lighted only by the red flickering flame of the torch carried by the guide through this labyrinth, the General was suddenly stopped by a door in front of him. He turned hesitatingly towards the masked men, who had followed him step by step.
"What do you wait for?" said one of them in reply to his mute interrogation. "Is it not written,Knock and it shall be opened unto you?"
The General bowed in sign of acquiescence, and knocked loudly at the door. The folding panels drew back silently into the wall, and the General found himself at the entrance of a vast hall, whose walls were covered with long red draperies, gloomily enlightened by a bronze lamp and several chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, which shone in an uncertain manner upon the countenances of about a hundred men, who, with naked swords in their hands, fixed their eyes upon him through the black masks which concealed their faces. At the bottom of this hall was a table covered with a green cloth, at which were seated three men. Not only were those three men masked, but, as a further precaution, before each of them a lighted torch was planted on the table, the dazzling flame of which allowed them to be but vaguely seen. Against the wall was a crucifix, between two hourglasses surmounted by a death's-head with a poniard run through it.
The General manifested no emotion at this imposingmise en scène. A smile of disdain curled his lip, and he stepped boldly forward. At this moment he felt a light touch on the shoulder, and, on turning round, perceived that one of the guides was holding out a mask to him. In spite of the precautions he had taken to disguise his features, he eagerly seized it, placed it on his face, folded his cloak round him, and entered.
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti!" he said.
"Amen!" all present replied, in a sepulchral tone.
"Exaudiat te Dominus, in die Tribulationis," said one of the personages behind the table.
"Impleat Dominus omnes petitiones tuas," the General replied, without hesitation.
"La Patria!" the first speaker rejoined.
"O la Muerte!" replied the General.
"What is your purpose in coming here?" the man who up to this time alone had spoken, asked.
"I wish to be admitted into the bosom of the elect."
There was a momentary silence.
"Is there anyone among us who can or will answer for you?" the masked man then asked.
"I cannot say; for I do not know the persons among whom I find myself."
"How know you that?"
"I suppose so, as they, as well as I, are masked."
"The Dark-Hearts," said the interrogator in a deep tone, "consider not the countenance; they search souls."
The General bowed at this sentence, which appeared to him to border upon the ridiculous. The interrogator continued:—"Do you know the conditions of your affiliation?"
"I know them."
"What are they?"
"To sacrifice mother, father, brothers, relations, friends, and myself, without hesitation, to the cause which I swear to defend."
"What next?"
"At the first signal, whether it be by day or night, even at the foot of the altar, in whatever circumstance I may be placed, to quit everything, in order to accomplish immediately the orders that shall be given me, in whatever manner they may be given, and whatever may be the tenor of that order."
"Do you subscribe to these conditions?"
"I subscribe to them."
"Are you prepared to swear to submit yourself to them?"
"I am prepared."
"Repeat, then, after me, with your hand upon the Gospels, the words I am about to dictate to you."
"Dictate!"
The three men behind the table rose; a Bible was brought, and the General resolutely placed his hand upon the book. A faint murmur ran through the ranks of the assembly. The president struck the table with the hilt of his dagger, and silence was re-established. This man then pronounced in a slow and deep toned voice the following words, which the General repeated after him without hesitation:—
"I swear to sacrifice myself, my family, my property, and all that I can hope for in this world, for the safety of the cause defended by the Dark-Hearts. I swear to kill every man, be he my father, be he my brother, who shall be pointed out to me. If I fail in my faith, if I betray those who accept me as their brother, I acknowledge myself to be worthy of death; and I, beforehand, pardon the Dark-Hearts who may inflict it upon me."
"So far well!" replied the president, when the General had pronounced the oath. "You are now our brother."
He then rose, and stepping across the hall, stood full in front of the General.
"Now," he said in a solemn threatening voice, "answer me, Don Pancho Bustamente. As you, of your own free will, take a false oath before a hundred persons, do you think we should commit a crime in condemning you, since you have had the audacity to place yourself in our power?"
In spite of his assurance, the General could not repress a start of terror.
"Remove the mask which covers this man's face, so that everyone may know that it is he! Ah! General; you have entered the lion's den, and you will be devoured."
The noise of a distant commotion was heard.
"Your soldiers are coming to your rescue," the president resumed, "but they will come too late, General; prepare to die!"
These words fell like the blow of a mace upon the brow of him who found himself thus outwitted; he, nevertheless, did not yet lose heart; the noise evidently approached; and there could be no doubt but that his troops, who surrounded the Quinta Verde on all sides, would soon gain possession of it; all he wanted was time.
"By what right," he said haughtily, "do you constitute yourselves judges and executioners of your own sentence?"
"You are one of us, and are bound by our sentence," the president replied, with an ironical smile.
"Beware of what you are about to do, gentlemen," the General added in a haughty tone; "remember I am minister-at-war!"
"And I am King of Darkness," the president cried in a voice that froze the very blood of the General; "my dagger is more sure than the muskets of your soldiers; it does not let its victims escape. Brethren, what chastisement does this man deserve?"
"Death!" the conspirators replied.
The General saw that he was lost.
Sergeant Diego, when left by General Bustamente a few paces from the Quinta Verde, was very uneasy regarding the fate of his leader, and entertained dismal presentiments. He was an old soldier, and well acquainted with all the machinations and treacheries practised in this country between inveterate enemies. He had been far from approving of the General's undertaking, for he knew better than anyone how little confidence ought to be placed in spies. Constrained, ostensibly, to obey the order he had received, he had resolved,in petto, not to leave his leader without help in the wasps' nest into which he had cast himself headlong. Diego entertained for General Bustamente, under whose orders he had served ten years, a profound regard, which entitled him to certain freedoms, and his entire confidence. He immediately placed himself in relation with two other officers of the detachment, ordered, like himself, to watch the mysterious house whose dark outline cut gloomily across the cloudy sky, and around which there was a close blockade. He was walking about, biting his moustache, and swearing to himself, determined, if the General did not come out within half an hour, to obtain an entrance by force, if necessary, when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder. He turned sharply round, stopping short in an oath that was passing his lips, and saw a man standing before him: it was Don Pedro.
"Is that you?" he asked, as soon as he recognised him.
"Myself," the spy replied.
"But where the devil do you come from?"
"No matter; do you wish to save the General?"
"Is he in danger?"
"In danger of death."
"Demonios!" the sergeant shouted; "he must be saved!"
"For that purpose I am here; but don't speak so loud."
"I will speak as you like, provided you will tell me."
"Nothing!" Don Pedro replied, "for there is not a minute to be lost."
"What is to be done?"
"Listen! A detachment must feign an attack upon the gate by which the General entered; another will watch the environs, for the Dark-Hearts have roads known only to themselves; you, with a third detachment, will follow me; I will undertake to introduce you into the house—is that agreed upon?"
"Perfectly."
"Make haste, then, to inform your colleagues; time presses."
"Instantly; where shall I find you again?"
"Here."
"Very well; I only ask five minutes," and he strode away in haste.
"Hem!" thought Don Pedro, as soon as he was alone; "we should be prudent when we wish affairs to be profitable; from what I heard, they will condemn the General, and they must not be allowed to go as far as that, for my interests would suffer too seriously; I have manoeuvred so as to be safe from all suspicion; if I succeed, I shall be more in favour with the General than ever, without losing the confidence of the conspirators."
"Well!" he said, as he saw Diego coming towards him.
"Everything is done," replied the sergeant, out of breath. "I am ready."
"Come on, then, and God grant it may not be too late!"
"Amen!" said the soldier.
Everything was done as had been arranged; whilst one detachment vigorously attacked the gate of the Quinta Verde, Don Pedro led the troops commanded by Diego to the opposite side of the house, where a low window was open; this window was grated, but several bars had been removed beforehand, which left the entrance easy. Pedro commanded the soldiers to be silent, and they entered the house one by one. Guided by the spy, they advanced stealthily, without meeting with obstacles of any kind. At the end of a few minutes they came to a closed door.
"This is it!" said Pedro, in a low voice.
At a sign from the sergeant, the door was beaten in with the butt end of their muskets, and the soldiers rushed into the room. It was nearly empty, its only occupant being a man stretched motionless upon the floor. The sergeant sprang towards him, but recoiled with a cry of horror—he had recognised his leader—General Bustamente lay with a dagger sticking upright in his breast. To the hilt of the dagger was tied a long black strip, upon which were written these words in red ink:
"The Justice of the Dark-Hearts!"
"Oh!" cried Diego; "Vengeance! Vengeance!"
"Vengeance!" the soldiers repeated, with rage, mingled with terror.
The sergeant turned round towards Pedro, whom he believed to be still by his side; but the spy, who alone could guide them in their researches, had thought it prudent to steal away. As soon as he saw that what he dreaded had happened, he had disappeared without anybody observing his departure.
"No matter!" said Diego. "If I demolish this den of assassins, from bottom to top, and don't leave stone upon stone, I swear I will find these demons, if they are buried in the centre of the earth."
The old soldier began searching in all directions, whilst a surgeon who had followed the detachment paid attention to the wounded man, whom he endeavoured to restore to his senses.
The Dark-Hearts, as the spy had truly said, had paths known only to themselves, by which they had quietly departed, after having accomplished their terrible vengeance, or executed their severe justice, according to the point of view in which an act of this nature and importance is viewed. They were already far off in the country, safe from all danger, while the soldiers were still ferociously searching for them in and about the house.
Don Tadeo and Don Gregorio returned together to the chacra, and were astonished, on their arrival, to find Valentine, whom they supposed to be in bed and asleep long before, waiting for them at that late hour, to request a few minutes' conversation. In spite of the very natural surprise which the demand at such a singular hour excited, the two gentlemen, who supposed the Frenchman had serious reasons for acting thus, granted his request, without making the least observation. The conversation was long—so long, that we think it useless to repeat it here in detail, but will satisfy ourselves with giving our readers the end of it, which sums it up perfectly.
"I will not insist," said Don Tadeo, "although you will not tell us your motives. I believe you to be too considerate a man, Don Valentine, not to be convinced that the reasons which force you to leave us are serious."
"Of the greatest seriousness," the young man replied.
"Very well. But on leaving this place, in which direction do you intend to bend your steps?"
"Faith! I own frankly—besides, you know already that I and my friend are in search of fortune—that all directions are the same to us, since we must, above everything, depend upon chance."
"I am of your opinion," replied Don Tadeo, smiling. "Listen to me, then. I possess large estates in the province of Valdivia, which it is my intention to visit shortly. What prevents you going that way in preference to any other?"
"Nothing, that I know of."
"I, at this moment, stand in need of a man whom I can depend upon, to undertake an important mission into Araucania, to one of the principal chiefs of the people of that country. If you are going to the province of Valdivia, you will be obliged to traverse Araucania in its whole length. Are you willing to undertake this commission? Will that inconvenience you?"
"Why should I not?" said Valentine. "I have never come face to face with savages; I should like to see what sort of people they are."
"Very well; now is your opportunity. That is agreed upon then. You wish to start tomorrow, do you not?"
"Tomorrow! Today, if you please—in a few hours, for it will not be long before the sun will be up."
"That is true. Very well, then; at the moment of your departure, my major-domo shall place, on my part, written instructions in your hands."
"Caramba!" said Valentine, laughing; "here am I transformed into an ambassador!"
"Do not joke, my friend," said Don Tadeo, seriously. "The mission I confide to you is delicate—dangerous, even; I do not conceal that from you. If the papers of which you will be the bearer are found upon you, you will be exposed to great dangers. Are you still willing to be my emissary?"
"Pardieu! Wherever there is danger there is pleasure. And what is the name of the person to whom I am to remit these despatches?"