General Márquez had been sent to the relief of Guadalajara, which town, it was supposed continued successfully to resist the federal troops; but all at once, after the federals had carried off a conducta de plata belonging to English merchants, an armistice was concluded between the two belligerent corps—an armistice with which the money of the conducta had no doubt a great deal to do—and General Castillo, commandant of Guadalajara, abandoned by the majority of his troops, found himself compelled to leave the town and take refuge on the Pacific: so that the federals, freed from this obstacle, combined against Márquez, defeated him, and destroyed his corps, the only one that still kept the field. The situation thus became more and more critical: the federals meeting with no further obstacle or resistance in their victorious march, rose up on all sides and every hope of negotiations was lost. Fighting must go on at all risks. The fall of Miramón, consequently, could only be a question of time: the general doubtless perfectly comprehended this, but he did not let it be seen, and, on the contrary, redoubled his ardour and activity in order to parry the incessantly rising embarrassments of his situation.
After appealing to all classes of society, the general at length resolved to apply to the clergy, whom he had always supported and protected: they replied to his appeal, raised a tithe on their lands, and resolved to carry to the mint their gold and silver ornaments, to be melted and placed at the disposal of the ex-executive power. Unfortunately, all these efforts were thrown away, the expenses increased in a ratio with the continually growing dangers of the situation, and ere long Miramón, after vainly employing all the expedients which his critical position suggested to him, found himself with an empty treasury and the sorrowful conviction that it was useless to dream of refilling it.
We have already had occasion to explain how as each State of the Mexican confederation remains in possession of the public funds during a period of revolution, the government sitting at Mexico finds itself almost continually in a state of utter penury, because it only has the funds of the State of Mexico at its disposal, while its rivals, on the contrary, constantly beating up the country in all directions, not only stop the conductas de plata and appropriate very considerable sums without the slightest remorse, but also plunder the exchequer of all the States they enter, carry off the money without the slightest scruple, and thus find themselves in a position to carry on the war without disadvantage.
Now, that we have rapidly sketched the political situation in which Mexico was, we will resume our narrative in the early days of Nov. 18—, that is to say, about six weeks after the period when we interrupted it. Night was advancing, shadows were already invading the plain, the oblique beams of the setting sun, gradually expelled from the valleys, were still clinging to the snowy peaks of the mountains of Anahuac, which they tinged with vermillion hues: the breeze rustled through the foliage:vaqueros, mounted on horses as wild as themselves, were driving across the plain large herds which had wandered all day at liberty, but at night returned to the corral. In the distance could be heard tingling the mule bells of some belated arrieros, who were hurrying to reach the magnificent highway lined enormous aloes, contemporaries of Motecuhzoma, which runs to Mexico.
A traveller, mounted on a powerful horse and carefully wrapped in the folds of a cloak which was pulled up to his eyes, was slowly following the capricious windings of a narrow track which, cutting across country, joined at about two leagues from the town the high road from Mexico to Puebla, a road at this moment completely deserted, not only on account of the approach of night, but also because the state of anarchy into which the country had so long been plunged, had let loose numerous bands of brigands who, taking advantage of the circumstances and waging war in their own way, stripped without any distinction of political opinion both constitutionals and liberals, and emboldened by impunity, did not always content themselves with the highway, but even entered the towns to carry on their depredations. Still, the traveller to whom we allude appeared to trouble himself very little about the risks he ran, and continued his venturesome ride at the same quiet and gentle rate. He went on thus for about three-quarters of an hour, and was not more than a league from the city when, happening to raise his head, he perceived that he had reached a spot where the track parted and ran to the right and left: he halted with evident hesitation, but a moment later took the right hand track. The traveller, after going in this direction for about ten minutes appeared to know where he was, for he gave his horse a slight touch of the spur, and made it break into a long trot. Ere long he reached a pile of blackened ruins, scattered disorderly over the ground, and near which grew a clump of trees whose long branches overshadowed the earth around them for a considerable distance. On reaching this spot, the horseman halted, and after looking searchingly around him, evidently to make sure that he was alone, he dismounted, sat down comfortably on a sod of grass, leaned against a tree, threw back his cloak and revealed the pale worn features of the wounded man whom we saw conducted to the rancho by Dominique, thevaquero.
Don Antonio de Cacerbar, for such was his name, only appeared the shadow of his former self—a sort of mournful spectre. His whole life appeared concentrated in his eyes, which flashed with a sinister gleam like those of fawns; but in this body, apparently so weak, it could be seen that an ardent mind and energetic will were enclosed, and that this man, who had emerged a victor from an obstinate struggle with death, was pursuing with unswerving obstinacy the execution of dark resolutions previously formed by him. Scarce cured from his frightful wound, still very weak, and only enduring with extreme difficulty the fatigue of a long ride, he had, for all that, imposed silence on his sufferings, to come thus at nightfall nearly three leagues from Mexico to a rendezvous which he had himself requested. The motives for such conduct, especially in his state of weakness, must be of very great importance to him.
A few minutes elapsed, during which don Antonio, with his arms crossed on his chest, and his eyes closed, reflected, and in all probability prepared himself for the interview he was about to have with the person he had come so far to see. All at once a sound of horses, mingled with the clank of sabres, announced that a rather large troop of horsemen was approaching the spot where don Antonio was waiting. He drew himself up, looked nervously in the direction whence the noise came, and rose, doubtless to receive his visitor. They were fifty in number. They halted about fifteen paces from the ruins, but remained in the saddle. Only one of them dismounted, threw his bridle to a horseman, and walked up to don Antonio, who, on his side, advanced to meet him.
"Who are you?" don Antonio asked in a low voice, when he was but five or six yards from the stranger.
"The man you are expecting, señor don Antonio," the other immediately replied; "Coronel don Felipe Neri Irzabel, at your service."
"Yes, it is you. I recognize you. Approach."
"It is very lucky. Well, señor don Antonio," the colonel replied, offering his hand; "and your health?"
"Bad," said don Antonio, falling back without touching the hand that the guerillero offered him.
The latter did not notice this movement, or, if he did, attached no importance to it.
"You have come with a large escort," don Antonio continued.
"Caray! Do you fancy, my dear sir, that I have any wish to fall into the hands of Miramón's scouts? My account would be soon settled if they caught me. But I fancy that in spite of all the pleasure we feel at meeting, we had better attend to business without delay. What is your opinion?"
"I wish for nothing better."
"The general thanks you for the last information you sent him—it was scrupulously exact; hence he has sworn to reward you as you deserve, so soon as the occasion offers."
Don Antonio made a gesture of disgust.
"Have you the paper?" he asked, with some degree of eagerness.
"Of course," the colonel answered.
"Drawn up as I requested?"
"Everything is in it, señor, so set your mind at rest," the colonel continued, with a coarse laugh.
"Where could honesty be found at the present day, except among people of our stamp? What you stipulated is accepted. The whole is signed, 'Ortega, General-in-Chief of the Federal Army,' and countersigned, 'Juárez, President of the Republic.' Are you satisfied?"
"I will answer you, señor, when I have seen the paper."
"Nothing easier. Here it is," the guerillero said, drawing a large envelope from his dolman, and presenting it to don Antonio.
The latter seized it with a movement of joy, and broke the seal with a febrile hand.
"You will have a difficulty in reading at this moment," the colonel said, with a knowing look.
"Do you think so?" don Antonio asked, ironically.
"Haugh! It is very dark, it strikes me."
"That is of no consequence. I will soon have a light:" and rubbing a lucifer match on a stone, he lit a rolled up taper, which he drew from his pocket.
As he read, a lively satisfaction was legible on his face. At length he put out the taper, folded up the paper, which he carefully secured in his pocketbook, and then addressed the colonel.
"Señor, you will thank General Ortega from me. He has behaved toward me like a perfect caballero."
The guerillero bowed. "I will not fail, señor," he answered; "especially if you have some information to add to that which you have already given us."
"I certainly have, and of a very important nature."
"Ah! Ah!" said the other, rubbing his hands eagerly; "pray let me have it, my dear señor."
"Listen, then. Miramón is at the last gasp. He wants money, and cannot possibly obtain any. The troops, nearly all recruits, badly armed, and worse clothed, have not been paid for two months, and are murmuring."
"Very good! Poor dear Miramón! He is in a very bad way, then?"
"The worse for him is, that the clergy, who promised at the outset to come to his assistance, have now refused their help."
"But," the guerillero remarked, ironically, "how is it that you are so well informed, my dear sir?"
"Do you not know that I am attaché to the Spanish Embassy?"
"That is true—I forgot it; pray excuse me. What more do you know?"
"The ranks of the partisans of the president are daily growing thinner: his old friends are abandoning him. Hence, in order to raise him slightly in public opinion, he has resolved to attempt a sortie, and attack General Berriozábal's division."
"Come, come! That is worth knowing!"
"You are warned."
"Thanks! We will be on our guard. Is that all?"
"Not yet. Reduced, as I told you, to the last extremity, and wishing to procure money—no matter by what means, Miramón has resolved to imitate the robbery of the conducta of 'Laguna Seca,' effected by your party."
"I know," the colonel interrupted, rubbing his hands. "It was I who carried out thatnegotiation. Unfortunately," he added, with a sigh of regret, "such hauls are rare."
"Miramón has therefore resolved," don Antonio continued, "to carry off the money of the Convention, which is at this moment at the British Legation."
"That is a superb idea! Those fiends of heretics will be furious! Who is the man of genius who suggested to him this idea, which will infallibly ruin him with England? For the gringos do not understand jests in money matters."
"I am aware of it: and hence the idea was suggested through my influence!"
"Señor!" the guerillero said majestically; "In this instance you have deserved well of your country. But the amount cannot be large?"
"It is a tolerably round sum."
"Ah, ah! How much at a guess?"
"Six hundred and sixty thousand piastres (£132,000)."
The guerillero was dazzled.
"Caray!" he exclaimed, with conviction; "I lay down my arms before him. He is stronger than I. The affair of the Laguna Seca was nothing in comparison. But with this sum, hang it all! He will be in a condition to recommence the war."
"It is too late now; we have arranged for that, and the money will be spent in a few days," don Antonio remarked with an ugly smile: "trust to us for that."
"May Heaven grant it!"
"Such, for the present, is all the information it is possible for me to give you; I consider it tolerably important."
"Caray," the guerillero exclaimed, "it could not be more so."
"I hope, in a few days, to give you some of a more serious nature."
"Here?"
"Here at the same hour, and by means of the same signal."
"That is settled. Ah! the general will be highly delighted to learn all this."
"Now let us come to our second matter—that which concerns us two alone; what have you done since I saw you last?"
"Not much; I have not the means at this moment to enter into the difficult researches with which you commissioned me."
"And yet the reward is a fine one."
"I do not say it is not," the guerillero replied absently.
Don Antonio gave him a piercing glance.
"Do you doubt my word?" he said haughtily.
"It is my principle never to doubt anything, señor," the colonel answered.
"The sum is a large one."
"That is the very thing that terrifies me."
"What do you mean? Explain yourself, don Felipe."
"On my word," he exclaimed, suddenly making up his mind, "it is, I believe, the best thing I can do, so listen to me."
"Speak."
"Above all, do not be vexed, my dear señor; business is business, hang it all, and must be treated on the square."
"That is my opinion too, go on."
"Well, then, you offered me fifty thousand piastres to—"
"I know what for, so pass over it."
"I am quite agreeable: now fifty thousand piastres form a considerable sum; I have only your word as security."
"Is it not sufficient?"
"Not quite. I know very well that between gentlemen a word is a bond; but where business is concerned, it is no longer so. I believe you to be very rich, as you say you are, and as you offer me fifty thousand piastres; but what proof have I that when the moment arrives to pay me you will be in a position to do so, however good your will may be?"
Don Antonio, while the guerillero was laying down the matter so distinctly, suffered from a dull wrath, which was twenty times on the point of bursting forth, but fortunately he restrained it, and succeeded in retaining his coolness.
"Well, then, what do you desire?" he asked him in a choking voice.
"Nothing for the present, señor; let us finish our resolution. So soon as we enter Mexico—which I hope both for you and me will not be long first—you will take me to a banker I know: he will be responsible for the sum, and all will be settled. Does that suit you?"
"I can't help myself; but till then?"
"We have more pressing matters to attend to. Some days more or less are of no consequence, and now that we have nothing more to say to each other for the present, permit me to take leave of you, my dear sir."
"You are at liberty to retire, señor," don Antonio replied drily.
"I kiss your hands, my dear sir, and trust I shall see you again shortly."
"Farewell."
Don Felipe bowed cavalierly to the Spaniard, turned on his heels, rejoined his cuadrilla, and set off at full speed, followed by his partisans.
As for don Antonio, he went back pensively and slowly to Mexico, where he arrived two hours later.
"Oh!" he muttered, as he pulled up before the house he occupied in the Calle de Tacuba; "In spite of heaven and hell I will succeed."
What was the meaning of these sinister words which seem to contain the result of his long meditation?
Reddish tints were striping the snowy peaks of the Popocatepetl, the last stars were expiring in the heavens, and opaline gleams were tinting the summit of the buildings; day was just beginning to break. Mexico was still sleeping; its silent streets were only disturbed at long intervals by the hurried footfalls of a few Indians arriving from the neighbouring pueblos to sell their fruit and vegetables. A few pulqueros' shops alone timidly set their doors ajar, and were preparing to serve to the early customers the dose of strong liquor, thatobligadoprologue of every day's work. Half past four struck from thesagrario; at this moment a horseman emerged from the Calle de Tacuba, crossed the Plaza Mayor at a sharp trot, and pulled up right in front of the gates of the palace of the presidency, which were guarded by two sentries.
"Who goes there?" one of them shouted.
"A friend," the horseman replied.
"Pass, friend."
"Certainly not," the horseman answered, "for I have business here."
"You wish to enter the palace?"
"Yes."
"It is too soon; come back in two hours."
"In two hours it will be too late, and so I must enter at once."
"Stuff," the sentry said jeeringly, and then added to his companion: "What do you think of that, Pedrito?"
"Well, well," the other replied with a grin; "I think that the gentleman must be a stranger, who is making a mistake, and fancies himself at the door of a mesón."
"Enough of that insolence, scoundrels," the horseman said sternly; "I have lost too much time already. Warn the officer of the guard, and make haste about it."
The tone employed by the stranger appeared to make a powerful impression on the soldiers. After consulting together for a moment in a whisper—as after all the stranger was in the right, and what he demanded was provided for in their orders—they resolved to satisfy him by striking the door with the butt of their muskets. Two or three minutes later, this door was opened, and offered a passage to a sergeant, who could be easily recognized by the vinewood stick, symbol of his rank, which he carried in his left hand. After enquiring of the sentries the reason of their summons, he bowed politely to the stranger, begged him to wait a moment, and went in, leaving the door open behind him, but almost immediately reappeared, preceding a captain in full dress uniform. The horseman bowed to the captain, and repeated the request which he had previously made to the sentries.
"I am very sorry to refuse you, señor," the officer replied, "but my orders prohibit me from letting anyone into the palace before eight o'clock; if the reason that brings you here is serious, be kind enough therefore to return at that hour, and nobody will oppose your entrance."
And he bowed as if taking leave.
"Pardon me, Captain," the horseman continued; "one word more, if you please."
"Say it, señor."
"It is unnecessary for anyone but yourself to hear it."
"Nothing is easier, señor," the officer replied, as he came near enough to touch the stranger; "now speak." The horseman leaned down, and murmured in a low voice a few words, which the officer listened to with marks of the most profound surprise.
"Are you satisfied now, Captain?"
"Perfectly, señor;" and turning to the sergeant, who was standing a few yards off, he said "open the gate."
"It is unnecessary," the stranger remarked; "with your permission I will dismount here, and a soldier can hold my horse."
"As you please, señor."
The horseman dismounted, and threw the bridle to the sergeant, who held it till a private should come to take his place.
"Now, Captain," the stranger continued, "if you wish to set the seal on your kindness by leading me yourself to the person who expects me, I am at your orders."
"I am at yours, señor," the officer replied, "and since you desire it, I shall have the honour of accompanying you."
They then entered the palace, leaving behind them the sergeant and two sentries in a state of the utmost surprise. Preceded by the captain, the horseman passed through several rooms, which, in spite of the early hour, were always crowded, not by visitors, but officers of all ranks, senators and councillors of the Supreme Court, who seemed to have spent the night at the palace. A great agitation prevailed among the groups, among which were blended officers, members of the clergy, and the chief merchants; they were conversing with considerable animation, but in a low voice; the general expression of faces was gloomy and anxious. The two men at length reached the door of a study guarded, by two sentries; an usher, with a silver chain round his neck, was slowly walking up and down; at the sight of the two men he hurried up to them.
"You have arrived, señor," said the captain.
"I have now only to take my leave of you, señor, and offer you my thanks for your politeness," the horseman answered.
They bowed, and the captain returned to his post.
"His Excellency cannot receive at this moment; there was an extraordinary council this night, and his Excellency has given orders that he is to be left alone," said the usher, bowing ceremoniously to the stranger.
"His Excellency will make an exception in my favour," the stranger remarked gently.
"I doubt it, señor; the order is general, and I dare not break it."
The stranger appeared to reflect for a moment.
The usher waited, evidently surprised that the stranger should persevere in remaining. The other at length raised his head; "I understand, señor," he said, "how sacred the order you have received must be to you, hence I have no intention of urging you to disobey it; still, as the subject that brings me here is of the most serious nature, let me implore you to do me a service."
"To oblige you, señor, I will do anything that is compatible with the duties of my office."
"I thank you, señor; however, I assure you, and you will soon receive proof of my assertion, that, far from reprimanding you, his Excellency, the President, will feel obliged to you for allowing me to reach his presence."
"I had the honour of remarking to you, señor—"
"Let me explain to you what I want of you," the stranger interrupted quickly, "then you will tell me whether you can or cannot do me the service I ask of you."
"That is fair, speak, señor."
"I will write one word on a piece of paper, and this paper you will place before his Excellency's eyes, without saying a word, if his Excellency says nothing to you; I will withdraw; you see there is no difficulty about it, and that you will in no way transgress the orders you have received."
"That is true," the usher replied, with a meaning smile, "but I evade them."
"Do you see any difficulty in doing so?"
"Is it very necessary, then, that you should see his Excellency this morning?" the usher continued, without answering the question asked him.
"Señor don Livio," the stranger answered in a grave voice, "for though you do not know me, I know you, I am aware of your devotion to General Miramón; well, on my honour and faith as a Christian, I swear to you that it is most urgent for him that I should see him without delay."
"That is sufficient, señor," the usher replied; seriously, "if it only depended on myself, you would be with him at this moment; there are paper, pen and ink, on that table, please write."
The horseman thanked him, took up a pen and wrote in large letters, in the middle of a sheet, this one word, "ADOLFO .°.", followed by three dots, arranged in a triangle, and then handed it to the usher.
"There," he said to him.
The usher gazed at him with amazement.
"What!" he exclaimed, "You are—"
"Silence," the stranger said, laying his finger on his lips.
"Oh, you will enter," the usher added, and opening the door, he disappeared.
But almost immediately the door was opened again, and a powerful voice, which did not belong to the usher, shouted twice from the interior of the cabinet, "Come in, come in."
The stranger entered.
"Come," the President continued, "Come, my dear don Adolfo, it is Heaven that sends you," and he advanced towards him, holding out his hand.
Don Adolfo respectfully pressed the President's hand, and sat down in an armchair by his side. At the moment when we bring him on the stage, President Miramón, the general whose name was in every mouth, and who was justly considered the first warrior of Mexico, as he was her best administrator, was quite a young man: he was scarcetwenty-six years of age, and yet, what noble and grand actions he had accomplished during the three years he had been in power! Physically, he was tall and elegantly formed; his manner was full of ease; his features, delicate, distinguished, and full of cleverness, displayed boldness and intelligence; his wide forehead was already wrinkled by the effect of thought; his well-opened black eyes had a straight and clear glance, whose depth, at times disturbed those upon whom he fixed them; his rather pale face and eyes bordered by a wide brown circle evidenced a long want of sleep.
"Ah," he said gladly, as he fell back in an easy chair, "my good genius has returned, he is going to bring me back my happiness that has fled."
Don Adolfo shook his head mournfully.
"What is the meaning of that movement, my friend?" the President continued.
"This means, General, that I fear it is too late."
"Too late! How so? Do you not think me capable of taking a startling revenge on my enemies?"
"I think you capable of every great and noble action, General," he replied; "unfortunately treachery surrounds you on all sides, and your friends are deserting you."
"That is only too true," the general said bitterly; "the clergy and the chief merchants, whose protector I constituted myself, whom I have defended everywhere and always, selfishly allow me to exhaust my last resources in protecting them, without deigning to come to my assistance, they will most likely regret me, if, as is only too probable, I succumb through their fault."
"Yes, that is true, General, and in the council which you held this night, of course you assured yourself in a definite manner of the intentions of these men to whom you have sacrificed everything."
"Yes," he said, frowning, and laying a bitter stress on his words, "to all my requests, to all my observations, they only gave one and the same answer: We cannot. They had agreed on it beforehand."
"Pardon my frankness, General, but in that case your position must be extremely critical."
"Say precarious, and you will be nearer the truth, my friend; the treasury is completely empty, and it is impossible for me to fill it again; the army, having received no pay for two months, are murmuring, and threaten to disband; my officers are going over, one after the other, to the enemy; the latter is advancing by forced marches on Mexico; such is the true situation, what do you think of it?"
"It is sad, horribly sad, General; and pardon me the question, and what do you intend doing to parry the danger?"
The general, instead of answering him, gave him a piercing glance.
"But before we go further, General," don Adolfo continued, "permit me, General, to give you an account of my own operations."
"Oh! They have been successful, I feel convinced," the general replied with a smile.
"I hope that you will find them so, Excellency; do you authorize me to make my report?"
"Do so, do so, my friend; I long to hear what you have accomplished for the defense of our noble cause."
"Oh, pardon, General," don Adolfo said quickly; "I am only an adventurer, and my devotion is entirely personal to yourself."
"Good, I understand; let me hear this report."
"In the first place, I succeeded in taking from General Degollado the remains of the conducta which he carried off at the Laguna Seca."
"Good, that is honourable warfare; for it was with the money of that conducta that he took Guadalajara from me. Oh, Castillo! Well, how much is it?"
"Two hundred and sixty thousand piastres."
"Hum! A very decent amount."
"Is it not? I next surprised that bandit Cuéllar; after that his worthy partner Carvajal, and lastly their friend Felipe Irzabal had a row with me; without counting several partisans of Juárez, whom their evil star brought across my track."
"But the total from these various encounters, my friend?"
"Nine hundred and odd thousand piastres; the guerilleros of the worthy Juárez are excellent shearing, for they have their arms free, and take advantage of it to fatten themselves by fishing largely in troubled waters. In short, I bring you about twelve hundred thousand piastres, which will be brought here on mules within an hour, and which you are at liberty to place in the treasury."
"Why, this is magnificent."
"I do what I can, General."
"Hang it all! If all my friends were to beat up the country with such excellent results, I should soon be rich, and able to carry on the war vigorously. Unfortunately that is not the case; but this sum, added to what I have been able to procure in another quarter, makes a very decent amount."
"What other sum are you alluding to, General? You have found money, then?"
"Yes," he replied with some hesitation; "a friend of mine, attaché to the Spanish embassy, suggested the means to me."
Don Adolfo bounded as if he had been stung by a viper.
"Calm yourself, my friend," the general said quickly; "I know that you are an enemy of the duke; still, since his arrival in Mexico, he has rendered me great services, as you cannot deny."
The adventurer was pale and gloomy, and made no reply. The general continued, for, like all honestly-minded men, he felt the necessity of exculpating himself from a bad action, although the utmost pressure alone compelled him to commit it. "The duke," he said, "after the defeat of Silao, when everything failed me at the same moment, succeeded in inducing Spain to recognize my government, which was very useful to me, as you will allow, I think?"
"Yes, yes, I allow it, General. Oh, Heaven! What I was told is true, then!"
"And what were you told?"
"That, being reduced to the last extremity through the obstinate refusal of the clergy and merchants to assist you, you had formed a terrible resolution."
"It is true," the general, said, hanging his head.
"But perhaps it is not too late yet; I bring you money; your situation is changed, and with your permission I will go—"
"Listen," the general said, checking him by a look.
The door had just been opened.
"Did I not forbid you disturbing me?" the President said to the usher, who was standing respectfully before him.
"General Márquez, Excellency," the usher answered impassively.
The President started, and a slight flush spread over his face.
"Let him come in," he said sharply.
General Márquez appeared.
"Well?" the President asked him.
"It is done," the general replied laconically; "the money is paid into the treasury."
"How did it come off?" the President continued, with an imperceptible tremor in his voice.
"I received your Excellency's orders to proceed with a respectable force to the legation of Her British Majesty, and request of the English representative the immediate surrender of the funds destined to pay the bondholders of the English debt, while observing to the representative that the sum was at this moment indispensable to your Excellency, in order to place the city in a posture of defense; moreover, I pledged your Excellency's word for the restitution of the sum, which must only be regarded as a loan for a few days, and: I also offered to arrange with your Excellency the mode of payment which would be most agreeable to him. To all my observations the English representative restricted himself to replying that the money did not belong to him, that he was only the responsible holder, and that it was impossible for him to surrender it. Perceiving that all my objections must fail in presence of an invincible resolution, after an hour spent in useless discussion, I at length determined to execute the last part of the orders I had received; I ordered my soldiers to break the official seals, and I removed all the money I found, being careful to have it counted twice in the presence of witnesses, in order to be sure of the amount of money which I appropriated, in order to restore it in full hereafter. I thus carried off one million four hundred thousand piastres (£240,000), which were immediately transported to the palace by my orders."
After this succinct narration, General Márquez bowed, like a man convinced that he has perfectly done his duty, and who expects complimenting.
"And what did the English representative do then?" the President asked.
"After protesting, he hauled down his flag, and, followed by the whole legation staff, left the city, declaring that he broke off all relations with your Excellency's government, and that in the face of the unjust act of spoliation to which he had been a victim—such are his own expressions—he should retire to Jalapa, and await fresh instructions from the British government."
"Very well, General, I thank you; I shall have the honour of conversing with you more fully in a moment."
The general bowed and retired.
"You see, my friend," the general remarked, "it is now too late to restore the money."
"Yes, the evil is irremediable, unhappily."
"What do you advise me?"
"General, you are at the bottom of an abyss; your rupture with England is the greatest misfortune which can happen to you under the present circumstances: you must conquer or die."
"I will conquer," the general exclaimed, hotly.
"May Heaven grant it!" the adventurer replied, sorrowfully; "For victory alone can absolve you."
He rose.
"Are you leaving me already?" the President asked him.
"I must, Excellency; have I not to bring the money here, which I at least took from your enemies?" Miramón hung his head sadly.
"Pardon me, General, I was wrong, I should not have spoken thus; do I not know in my own case that misfortune is a bad adviser?"
"Have you nothing to ask of me?"
"Yes, a blank signature."
The general at once gave it to him.
"There," he said, "shall I see you again before your departure from Mexico?"
"Yes, General—one word more."
"What is it?"
"Distrust that Spanish duke; he is betraying you."
He then took leave of the President, and withdrew.
At the palace gate don Adolfo found his horse held by a soldier; he at once leapt into the saddle, and after throwing a coin to theasistente, he again crossed the Plaza Mayor, and entered the Calle de Tacuba.
It was about nine in the morning; the streets were crowded with pedestrians, horsemen, carriages, and carts, proceeding in all directions. The city, in a word, was leading that feverish existence of capitals during moments of a crisis, when all faces are restless, all glances suspicious—when conversations are only held in a low voice, and people are always led to suppose an enemy in the inoffensive stranger whom accident makes them suddenly meet.
Don Adolfo, while rapidly advancing through the streets, did not fail to observe what was going on around him; the ill-disguised restlessness, the growing anxiety of the population did not escape him. Earnestly attached to General Miramón, whose noble character, lofty ideas, and, above all, his real desire for the welfare of his country, had attracted him, he felt a profound mental grief at the sight of the general despondency of the masses, and the disaffection of the people toward the only man, who at this moment, had he been honestly supported, was able to save them from the government of Juárez—that is to say, from anarchy organized by the terrorism of the sabre. He continued to advance without appearing to pay any attention to what was going on, or to what was being said in the groups collected on the doorsteps, in the shops, or at the corners of the streets, groups in which the carrying off of the English money by General Márquez upon the peremptory order of the President of the Republic, was being discussed and appreciated in a thousand different ways.
Still, on entering the suburbs, don Adolfo found the population calmer; the news had now spread there, not to any great extent, and those who knew it appeared to trouble themselves very slightly about it, or perhaps considered it perfectly simple, although it was really a most arbitrary act of power. Don Adolfo perfectly understood this distinction; the inhabitants of the faubourg, mostly poor people belonging to the lowest class of the population, were indifferent to an act which could not affect them, and by which only the rich city merchants could be hurt. On coming near theGarita, or Gate of Belén, he at length stopped before an isolated house, of modest, though not poor appearance, whose door was carefully closed. At the sound of his horse's hoofs, a window was half opened, a cry of delight was raised in the interior of the house, and a moment later the gate was thrown wide open to let him pass in. Don Adolfo entered, crossed thezaguán, reached the patio, where he dismounted, and fastened his horse to a ring fixed in the wall.
"Why take that trouble, don Jaime?" a lady who appeared in the patio, said in a soft and melodious voice; "Do you intend to leave us so quickly?"
"Perhaps so, sister," don Adolfo, or don Jaime made answer; "I can only remain a very little time with you, in spite of my lively desire to grant you several hours."
"Very good, brother; in the doubt you can let José lead your horse to the corral, where it will be more comfortable than in the patio."
"Do as you please, sister."
"You hear, José?" the lady said to an old man servant; "Lead Moreno to the corral, rub him down carefully, and give him a double feed of alfalfa. Come, brother," she added, passing her arm through don Jaime's.
The latter offered no objection, and both entered the home. The chamber they went into was a dining room, plainly furnished, but with that taste and neatness which denote assiduous attention; the table was laid for three persons.
"You will breakfast with us, I suppose, brother?"
"With pleasure; but before all, sister, kiss me, and tell me all about my niece."
"She will be here in an instant; as for her cousin, he is absent, do you know it?"
"I fancied he had returned."
"Not yet, and we all were very anxious about him, as we are about you, for he leads a most mysterious life: going off without saying where to, staying away frequently a very long time, and then returning without saying where he comes from."
"Patience, María, patience! Do you not know," he said with a shade of sorrow in his voice, "that we are toiling for you and your daughter? Some day, ere long I hope, all will be cleared up."
"Heaven grant it, don Jaime; but we are very solitary, and very anxious in this small house; the country is in a state of utter disturbance, the roads are infested by brigands; we tremble every moment lest you or don Estevan may have fallen into the hands of Cuéllar, Carvajal, or El Rayo, those bandits without faith or law, about whom frightful stories are daily told us."
"Reassure yourself, sister, Cuéllar, Carvajal, and even El Rayo," he replied with a smile, "are not so terrible as people think proper to represent to you; however, I only ask a little patience of you; before a month, I repeat, sister, all mystery shall cease, and justice be done."
"Justice!" doña María murmured, with a sigh; "Will that justice restore me my lost happiness—my son?"
"Sister," he replied with some degree of solemnity, "why doubt the power of Heaven? Hope, I tell you."
"Alas! Don Jaime, do you really understand the full import of that remark? Do you know what it is to say to a mother: hope?"
"María, do I need to repeat to you that you and your daughter are the two sole ties that attach me to life, that I have devoted my entire existence to you, sacrificing for the sake of seeing you one day happy, avenged and restored to the high rank from which you ought not to have descended, all the joys of family life and all the excitement of ambition. Do you suppose that you would see me so calm and resolute if I did not feel the certainty of being on the point of attaining that object which I have pursued for so many years with so much perseverance and such great obstinacy? Do you not know me still? Have you no further confidence in me?"
"Yes, yes, brother, I have faith in you," she exclaimed, as she sank in his arms; "and that is why I incessantly tremble, even when you tell me to hope, because I know that nothing can check you, that every obstacle raised before you will be overthrown, every peril met, and I fear lest you may succumb in this mad struggle sustained solely on my behalf."
"And for the honour of our name, sister—do not forget that—in order to restore to an illustrious coat of arms its now tarnished splendour; but enough of this, here is my niece; of all this conversation, remember but one word, which I repeat to you—hope!"
"Oh! Oh! Thanks, brother," she said, embracing him for the last time.
At this moment a door opened, and a young lady appeared.
"Ah, my uncle, my dear uncle!" she exclaimed eagerly approaching him and offering him her cheek, which he kissed several times; "At last you have arrived, and are most welcome."
"What is the matter, Carmen, my child?" he asked affectionately; "Your eyes are red, you are pale, you have been crying again."
"It is nothing, uncle—the folly of a nervous and anxious woman, that is all; have you not brought don Estevan back with you?"
"No," he replied lightly, "he will not return for some days; but he is perfectly well," he added, exchanging a significant look with doña María.
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes, only two days ago. I am slightly the cause of the delay, as I insisted on his not yet returning, as I wanted him down there; but are we not going to breakfast? I am literally dying of hunger," he said to turn the conversation.
"Yes, directly, we were only waiting for Carmen: now she is here, let us sit down," and she rang a bell.
The same old servant who had led don Jaime's horse to the corral, came in.
"You can serve, José," doña Carmen said to him.
They sat down to table and began their meal.
We will trace in a few lines the portrait of the two ladies whom the exigencies of our narrative have compelled us to bring on the scene. The first, doña María, don Jaime's sister, was still a beautiful woman, although her sunken and worn features bore traces of great sorrows; her carriage was noble, her manner graceful, and her smile sweet and sad. Although she could not be more than forty-two, her hair had turned perfectly white, and formed a striking contrast with her black eyebrows and bright flashing eyes, which revealed strength and youth. Doña María was dressed in long mourning robes, which gave her a religious and ascetic appearance.
Doña Carmen, her daughter, was twenty-two years of age at the most; she was lovely as her mother—of whom she was the living portrait—had been at her age. All about her was graceful and dainty; her voice had an extraordinary sweet modulation, her pure brow evidenced candour, and from her large black eyes, surmounted by eyebrows traced as if with a pencil, and fringed with long velvety lashes, escaped a gentle and hurried glance, filled with a strange charm. Her dress was simple: it consisted of a white muslin robe, fastened at the waist by a wide blue ribbon, and a mantilla of embroidered lace. Such were the two ladies.
In spite of the indifference he affected, don Jaime, the adventurer, was evidently restless and anxious—at times he held his fork in the air, forgetting to carry it to his mouth, and apparently listening to sounds perceptible to himself alone; at other times he sank into so profound a reverie, that his sister or niece was forced to recall him to himself by giving him a gentle tap.
"Really, there is something the matter with you, brother," doña María could not refrain from saying to him.
"Yes," the young lady added, "this preoccupation is not natural, uncle, it alarms us: what is it?"
"Nothing, I assure you," he answered.
"Uncle, you are concealing something from us."
"You are mistaken, Carmen; I am not concealing anything from you, of a personal nature at least; but at this moment such an agitation prevails in the city, that I confess to you plainly I fear a catastrophe."
"Can it be so near at hand?"
"Oh! I do not think so; still, there may be meetings, disturbances, or things of that sort. I advise you seriously, if you are not absolutely obliged, not to leave the house today."
"Oh, not today, or tomorrow, brother," doña María eagerly answered; "for a long time past we have only gone out to go to mass."
"Not even to attend mass for some time hence, sister, I should advise you."
"Is the danger so great then?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes and no, sister; we are in a critical moment when a government is on the point of falling, and of being followed by another. You understand that the government which is being overthrown today is powerless to protect the citizens; on the other hand, the one that succeeds it does not yet possess the power, or doubtless the will, to watch over the public safety; now, under such circumstances, the wisest course is to protect oneself."
"You really terrify me, brother."
"Good Heavens, uncle, what will become of us?" doña Carmen exclaimed, clasping her hands in horror; "These Mexicans frighten me—they are thorough barbarians."
"Reassure yourself, they are not so wicked as you suppose; they are badly educated, quarrelsome children, that is all; but their hearts are good. I have known them for a long time, and can answer for their good feelings."
"But you know, uncle, the hatred they entertain for us Spaniards."
"Unfortunately, I must allow that they repay us with interest the injury which they accuse our forefathers of having done them, and that they detest us cordially; but they do not know that you and I are Spaniards, and believe you to behijas del país, which is a protection for you; as for don Estevan, he passes for a Peruvian, and everybody is convinced that I am a Frenchman; hence you see that the danger is not so great as you suppose, and that you have nothing to fear, at least for the present, if you commit no imprudent act; besides, you will not remain without protection. I shall not leave you alone in this house with an old man servant when a catastrophe is so near at hand; hence, reassure yourselves."
"Are you going to remain with us, uncle."
"I should do so with the greatest pleasure, my dear child; but unfortunately, I dare not promise it to you, as I fear that it will be impossible."
"But uncle, what business of so important a nature?"
"Silence, curious one: give me a light for my cigarette, for I do not know what I have done with my mechero."
"Yes," she went on, as she handed him a match, "always your old tactics to change the conversation; really, uncle, you are a horrible man."
Don Jaime laughed and lit his cigarette.
"By the bye," he said presently, "have you seen anyone from the rancho?"
"Yes, a fortnight ago Loïck came with his wife Thérèse, and brought us some cheese and two jars of pulque."
"Did he say anything about the Arenal?"
"No, everything was going on there as usual."
"All the better."
"He merely mentioned a wounded man."
"Ah, ah, well."
"Good gracious, I do not remember exactly what he said."
"Stay uncle, I remember, these were the exact words, señorita, when you see your uncle, be kind enough to inform him that the wounded man whom he placed in the vault in López' charge, took advantage of the absence of the latter to escape, and that in spite of all our researches, we could not find him again."
"Maldición!" don Jaime exclaimed furiously, "Why did that ass of a Dominique not let him die like a wild beast: I suspected it would end thus."
But noticing the surprise depicted on the face of the two ladies on hearing these strange words, he broke off, and feigning the most perfect indifference, remarked, "Is that all?"
"Yes uncle; but he recommended me carefully not to forget to warn you."
"Oh, the matter was not worth the trouble, but no matter my dear girl, I thank you. Now," he added rising from table, "I am obliged to leave you."
"Already!" the two ladies exclaimed, hurriedly leaping from their seats.
"I must, unless some unforeseen event happen, I must be at a meeting tonight, a very long distance from here; but if I cannot return so soon as I hope, I will take care to send don Estevan in my place, so that you may not remain without protectors."
"That will not be the same thing."
"I thank you; ah, by the way, before we separate, a word about business matters. The money I gave you the last time I saw you must be nearly exhausted, I suppose?"
"Oh, we do not spend much, brother, we live most economically, and a decent sum is still left us."
"All the better sister, it is always preferable to have too much than too little, hence, as I am tolerably well off at this moment, I have put aside for you sixty ounces, of which I will request you to relieve me."
And feeling in his dolman, he drew out a long red silk purse, through the meshes of which gold could be seen glittering.
"That is too much, brother: what would you have us do with so large a sum?"
"Whatever you like, sister, that does not concern me: come, take it."
"Since you insist."
"By the bye, you may possibly find forty ounces over the amount I specified: use them to dress yourself and Carmen, for I wish her to be able to appear elegant when she wishes to do so."
"My kind uncle!" the young lady exclaimed, "I am sure that you are depriving yourself for our sake."
"That is not your business, señorita, I wish to see you looking nice, that is my whim: it is your duty as a submissive niece to obey me, without venturing any remarks: come kiss me both and let me be off, for I have delayed too long already."
The two ladies followed him into the patio, where they helped him to saddle Moreno, whom doña Carmen patted and fed with sugar, an attention for which the noble animal appeared duly grateful. At the moment when don Jaime was giving the old servant orders to open the gate, the hasty galloping of a horse was audible outside: then, hurried blows were dealt on the gate.
"Oh, oh!" said don Jaime, "What is happening?" and he went boldly under the zaguán.
"Uncle, brother," the two ladies screamed, attempting to arrest him.
"Let me alone," he said to them sharply, "we must know what this means; who is there?" he shouted.
"A friend," was the reply.
"It is Loïck's voice," the adventurer said, and opened the gate.
The ranchero came in, "Heaven be praised!" he exclaimed on noticing don Jaime, "For allowing me to meet you here."
"What has happened?" the adventurer quietly asked.
"A great misfortune," he answered, "the hacienda del Arenal has been captured by Cuéllar's band."
"¡Demonios!" the adventurer shouted, turning pale with passion, "When did this happen?"
"Three days ago."
The adventurer hurriedly dragged him into the interior of the house.
"Are you hungry? Are you thirsty?" he asked him.
"For three days I have neither eaten nor drank, as I was so anxious to get here."
"Rest, yourself and eat, and then you will tell me what has happened."
The two ladies hastened to place before the ranchero, bread, meat and pulque. While Loïck was taking the nourishment, of which he had such pressing need, don Jaime was walking in agitation up and down the room. At a sign from him the ladies had discreetly retired, leaving him alone with the ranchero.
"Have you finished?" he asked, as seeing that he was no longer eating.
"Yes," he answered.
"Now, do you feel capable of narrating to me how this catastrophe occurred?"
"I am at your orders, señor."
"Speak, then."
The ranchero, after emptying a last glass of pulque in order to clear his throat, commenced his narrative.
We will substitute our narrative for that of the ranchero, who, indeed, was ignorant of many of the details, only knowing the facts which had been related to himself. We will go back to the precise moment when Oliver—for the reader has of course recognized him in don Jaime—parted from doña Dolores and the count, at a distance of about two leagues from the hacienda del Arenal. Doña Dolores and the persons who accompanied her, did not reach the hacienda till a few minutes before sunset. Don Andrés, alarmed by this lengthened ride, received them with marks of the most lively joy: but he had noticed them a long way off, and on seeing Leo Carral with them, he had been reassured.
"Do not remain any longer out of doors, Count," he said to Ludovic, with a thoroughly paternal anxiety. "I can understand all the pleasure you of course feel in galloping by the side of that madcap, Dolores; but you do not know this country, and may lose your way. Moreover, the roads are at this moment infested with marauders belonging to all the parties that divide the unhappy republic; and these pícaros have no more scruple in firing at a gentleman, than in killing a coyote."
"I believe your fears are exaggerated, sir: we have had a delightful ride, and nothing of a suspicious nature has occurred to trouble it."
While conversing, they proceeded to the dining hall, where dinner was served up. The meal was silent, as usual, save that the ice seemed to be broken between the young lady and young man; and—what they had never done before—they now talked together!
Don Melchior was gloomy and restrained, as usual, and ate without saying a word; only now and then, evidently astonished at the good understanding that seemed to prevail between his sister and the French gentleman, he turned his head toward them, giving them glances of a singular expression; but the young people feigned not to remark them, and continued their conversation in a low voice. Don Andrés was radiant. In his joy he spoke loudly, addressed everybody, and ate and drank heartily. When they rose from table, Ludovic checked the old gentleman, as they were taking leave.
"Pardon me," he said; "but I should like a word with you."
"I am at your orders," don Andrés replied.
"Good heavens! I do not know how to explain it to you, sir. I am afraid I have acted rather lightly, and have committed an offence against propriety."
"You, Count!" don Andrés remarked, with a smile; "You will permit me not to believe it."
"I thank you for the good opinion you have of me; still I must make you the judge of what I have done."
"In that case, be kind enough to explain yourself."
"This is the matter, in two words, sir. Thinking that I was going straight to Mexico, for I was ignorant of your presence here—"
"Quite true; go on."
"Well, I wrote to an intimate friend of mine, an attaché of the French Legation, to inform him, first, of my arrival, and in the next place, to beg him to take the trouble of finding me rooms. Now, this friend, whose name is Baron Charles de Meriadec, and who belongs to a very old French family, kindly assented to my request, and prepared, to obtain me what I wanted. While this was going on, I learned you were living at this hacienda, and you were kind enough to offer me your hospitality. I immediately wrote to the baron to stop the affair, because I should doubtless remain a considerable period with you."
"By accepting my hospitality, Count, you gave me a proof of friendship and confidence, for which I am extremely grateful."
"I believed that all was settled with my friend, sir; when, this morning, I received a note from him, in which he tells me that he has obtained leave, and intends to spend his holiday with me."
"Ah! ¡Caramba!" Don Andrés exclaimed, joyously; "The idea is delightful, and I shall thank your friend for it."
"Then you do not consider him rather unceremonious?"
"What do you mean by unceremonious, Count?" Don Andrés quickly interrupted; "are you not almost my son-in-law?"
"But I am not so yet, sir."
"It will not be long first, thank Heaven: hence, you are at home here, and at liberty to receive your friends."
"Even if they were a thousand in number," don Melchior, who had overheard the conversation, said with a sardonic smile.
The count pretended to believe the young man's kindly intention, and answered him with a bow.
"I thank you, sir, for joining your father in this matter; for it is a proof of the good will you are kind enough to display towards me, whenever the opportunity is afforded you."
Don Melchior understood the sarcasm hidden under these words. He bowed stiffly, and withdrew with a growl.
"And when does the Baron de Meriadec arrive don Andrés continued.
"Well, sir, you confuse me; but as I must confess everything, I believe that he will arrive tomorrow morning."
"All the better. Is he a young man?"
"About my own age, sir. But I must inform you that he speaks Spanish very badly, and hardly understands it."
"He will find persons here to whom he can talk French: but you were right to warn me; if not, we might have been taken unawares. I will give orders to prepare rooms for him this very night."
"Pardon me, sir, but I should be truly sorry to cause you the slightest derangement."
"Oh! Do not trouble yourself about that. There is no lack of room, thank goodness; and we shall easily manage to put him in comfortable quarters."
"That is not what I mean. I know your splendid hospitality, but I think it would be better to place the baron near me, for my servants could wait on him, and my apartments are large."
"But that will bore you horribly."
"Not at all: on the contrary, I have more rooms than I want: he will take one: in this way we shall be able to talk together at our ease, whenever we please: as we have not seen each other for two years, we shall have plenty to talk about."
"Do you press it, Count?"
"I am in your house, sir, and hence cannot press anything: I only make a request."
"Since that is the case, Count, it shall be done according to your wish: this evening with your permission, everything shall be put in order."
Ludovic hereupon took leave of don Andrés, and retired to his apartments; but almost immediately after him came peons loaded with furniture, who in a few minutes converted his drawing room into a comfortable bedroom. The count, so soon as he was alone with his valet, informed him of all it was necessary for him to know, so that he might play his part in such a way as not to make a blunder, since he had been at the meeting and seen Dominique. At about nine o'clock on the next morning, the count was informed that a rider, dressed in the European fashion and followed by anarriero, driving two mules loaded with trunks and portemanteaux was approaching the hacienda. Ludovic had no doubt that it was Dominique, and hence hurried to the hacienda gate. Don Andrés was already there to do the honour to the stranger.
The count in his heart felt some anxiety as to the way in which thevaquerowould wear his European dress, so tight and warm and for that very reason so difficult to wear with ease: but he was almost immediately reassured at the sight of the handsome, proud young man who advanced, managing his horse gracefully, and having over his whole person an incontestable stamp of distinction. For a moment he doubted whether this elegant cavalier was the same man he had seen on the previous day, and whose frank but trivial manner had caused him fears about the part he was undertaking to play, but he was soon convinced that it was really Dominique who was before him.
The two young men greeted each other with marks of the most lively friendship, and then the count introduced his friend to don Andrés.
The hacendero, delighted with the good looks and appearance of the young man, gave him a most cordial greeting, and then the count and the baron retired, followed by the arriero, who was no other than Loïck the ranchero. So soon as the mules were unloaded, and the trunks were placed in the apartments, the baron—for we will temporarily give him the title—gave a generous fee to the arriero who most heartily thanked him and hastened away with his mules, as he did not care to remain too long at the hacienda, through fear of seeing some face he knew.
When the two young men were alone, they placed Raimbaut on sentry in the outer room, to prevent a surprise: and withdrawing into the count's bed chamber, they began a long and earnest conversation during which Ludovic gave the baron a species of biography of the persons with whom he was going to live for some time: he dwelt more especially on don Melchior, whom he urged him to distrust, and recommended him not to forget that he merely understood a few words of Spanish, and did not understand it: this point was essential.
"I have lived a long time with the Redskins," the young man answered, "and have profited by the lessons I received of them: you will be surprised at the perfection with which I shall play my part."
"I confess that I am surprised already, you have completely deceived my expectations: I was far from believing in such a result."
"You flatter me: I will try always to merit your approbation."
"By the way, my dear Charles," the count continued with a smile, "we are old friends, college chums."
"Of course, we knew each other when children," the other replied in the same key.
"Very well then, do not forget."
Upon this, the two young men shook hands cordially, laughing like schoolboys home for the holidays. A portion of the day was thus spent without further incident than the introduction of Baron Charles de Meriadec, by his friend Count Louis de Saulay, to doña Dolores, and her brother, don Melchior de la Cruz, a double introduction in which the baron behaved like a practised comedian.
Doña Dolores returned a graceful and encouraging smile for the compliment which the young man considered himself obliged to pay her. Don Melchior contented himself with a silent bow, while giving him an ugly look from under his eyelashes.
"Hum," the baron said when he found himself again alone with the count, "that don Melchior appears to me to be an ugly customer."
"I entirely share that opinion," the count answered distinctly.
At about three in the afternoon, doña Dolores sent to ask the young men if they would do her the honour of offering her their company for a few moments: they eagerly accepted and hastened to join her. They crossed don Melchior in the courtyard: the young man did not speak to them, but looked after them till they had entered his sister's apartments.
A month passed, and nothing occurred to disturb the monotonous existence of the inhabitants of the hacienda.
The count and his friend frequently went out, accompanied by the majordomo, either to shoot or simply for a ride; sometimes, though rarely, doña Dolores accompanied them.
Now that the count was no longer alone with her, she seemed to be less afraid of meeting him and at times even to take pleasure in it: she favourably accepted his gallantries, smiled at the sallies that escaped from him and under all circumstances, evidenced perfect confidence in him. But it was more especially to the pretended baron that she displayed a marked preference, either because knowing what he really was, she considered him of no importance, or because, through a pure caprice of feminine coquetry, she liked to sport with this native, whose indomitable energy she did not suspect, and wished to try the power of her charms on the simple young man.
Dominique did not perceive, or pretended not to perceive, the young lady's manoeuvres: though exquisitely polite to her and most attentive, he still remained within the strict limits he had laid down for himself, not wishing to render a man jealous, for whom he professed a sincere friendship, and whom he knew to be on the point of marrying doña Dolores.
As for don Melchior, his character had grown more and more sombre, his absences had become longer and more frequent, and on the rare occasions when accident brought him across the young men, he returned their bow silently, without deigning to say a syllable to them: in a word, the repugnance he had felt for them from the outset, had changed with the course of time into a good and hearty Mexican hatred.