"Doña Dolores," said one of the horsemen, "we are sent by don Jaime."
"Oh!" she exclaimed joyfully, "'Tis the voice of don Carlos."
"Yes, señorita; reassure yourself, then, and be good enough to mount without further delay, as we have no time to spare."
The young lady leapt lightly on don Diego's horse.
"Now, señores," the young man said, "you no longer need me—good-bye; gallop your hardest, and I wish you a pleasant journey."
They dashed away like a whirlwind, and soon disappeared in the darkness.
"How they race!" the young man said laughingly; "I fancy don Melchior will have some difficulty in catching them."
And wrapping himself in his cloak, he returned on foot to the palace of the government, where he resided. The two men who accompanied the young lady were Dominique and Leo Carral. They galloped the whole night. At sunrise they reached an abandonedrancho, where several persons were awaiting them. Doña Dolores joyfully recognized among them don Adolfo and the count. Surrounded by these devoted friends, she had nothing more to fear. She was saved. The journey was a continued maze, but her joy was immense when she arrived in Mexico, and under the escort of her brave friends entered the small house, where every preparation had been made to receive her. She fell weeping into the arms of doña María and doña Carmen. Don Adolfo and his friends discreetly retired, leaving the ladies to their confidences. The count, in order to watch more closely over the young lady, hired a house in the same street, and offered to share it with Dominique, who eagerly accepted it. It was arranged, in order not to arouse suspicion or attract attention to the house of the three ladies, that the young men should only pay them short visits at rather lengthened intervals. As for don Adolfo, the young lady had scarcely been installed in his house ere he recommenced his wandering life, and once more became invisible. Sometimes after nightfall he would suddenly turn up at the young men's house, of which Leo Carral had undertaken the management, declaring that as the count was going to marry his young mistress, he was his master, and he regarded himself as his majordomo; the count, not to grieve the worthy servant, had left himcarte blanchein these rare appearances. The adventurer conversed for some time on indifferent topics with the two friends, and then left them, after recommending them to be vigilant.
Matters went on well for some days; doña Dolores, under the beneficial impression of happiness, had resumed all her girlish gaiety and confidence; she and Carmen twittered like hummingbirds from morn till night in every corner of the house; doña María herself, yielding to the influence of this frank and simple joy, seemed quite rejuvenated, and at times her earnest features were even illumined by a smile.
The count and his friend, by their visits, which, in spite of don Jaime's advice, became gradually more frequent and long, produced a variety in the calm monotonous existence of the three voluntary recluses, who never set foot in the street, and were in utter ignorance of what was taking place around them.
One evening when the count was playing a game of chess with Dominique for the sake of killing time, and the two young men who took but slight interest in the game were sitting face to face, ostensibly arranging clever schemes, but in reality thinking of other things, there was a violent knocking at the street door.
"Who the deuce can come at this hour?" they both exclaimed with a start.
"It is past midnight," Dominique said.
"If it is not Oliver," the count remarked, "I cannot think who it is."
"It is he, of course," Dominique added.
At this moment the room door was opened, and don Jaime entered.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said; "you did not expect me at this hour, eh?"
"We always expect you, my friend."
"Thanks: with your permission," he added, and turning to the servant who showed him a light, said, "get me some supper, if you please, Master Raimbaut."
The latter bowed and left the room.
Don Jaime threw his hat on a table, and sat down on a chair, fanning himself with his handkerchief.
"Ouf!" he said; "I am dying of hunger, my friends!"
The young men examined the adventurer with a surprise that they tried in vain to conceal, and which, spite of themselves, was reflected on their faces.
Raimbaut, aided by Lanca Ibarru, brought in a ready-laid table, which he placed before don Adolfo.
"By Jove, gentlemen!" the adventurer said gaily, "Master Raimbaut has had the charming attention to lay covers for three, evidently foreseeing that you would not refuse to keep me company; forget your thoughts for a moment, then, I beg, and come to table."
"Most willingly," they replied, as they took the seat by his side.
The meal began; don Adolfo ate with good appetite while talking with a humour and quickness they had never noticed in him before. He was inexhaustible; it was a rolling fire of sallies, witticisms, and neatly told anecdotes that poured from his lips. The young men looked at each other, for they did not at all comprehend this singular temper; for, in spite of the gaiety of his remarks and his easiness of manner, the adventurer's brow remained thoughtful, and his face retained its habitual coldly sarcastic expression. Still, excited by this most communicative gaiety, they soon forgot all their anxieties, and allowed themselves to be won by this apparently so frank joy, ere a contest of laughter and merry remarks was mingled with the clink of glasses and the rattle of the knives and forks. The servants were dismissed, and the three friends left alone.
"Really, gentlemen," don Adolfo said as he uncorked a bottle of champagne, "of all meals, in my opinion, supper is the best; our fathers liked it, and were right; among other good customs that are departing, this one is going, and will soon be entirely forgotten. I, for one, shall regret it sincerely." He filled his companions' glasses. "Permit me," he continued, "to drink your health in this wine, one of the most delicious productions of your country." And after hobnobbing, he emptied the glass at one draught. The bottles rapidly succeeded each other, for the glasses were no sooner filled than emptied. They soon began to grow excited. Then they lit cigars, and attacked the liqueurs—Jamaica rum, Cataluña refino, and French brandy. With their elbows on the table, and enveloped in a dense cloud of fragrant smoke, they went on talking with less reservation, and insensibly—they did not perceive it themselves—their conversation assumed a more earnest and confidential character.
"Bah!" Dominique suddenly said, throwing himself back comfortably in his chair, "Life is a good thing, and above all a beautiful one."
At this outburst, which fell into the centre of the conversation like an aerolite, the adventurer burst into a sharp, nervous laugh.
"Bravo!" he said, "That is first-class philosophy. This man, who was born, he does not know of whom or where, who has sprung up like a sturdy mushroom, never knowing any other friend save myself, who does not possess a shilling, considers life a beautiful thing and congratulates himself on enjoying it. By Jove! I should be curious to hear this fine theory developed a little."
"Nothing is easier," the young man replied, without any excitement. "I was born I know not where, that is true: but it is a blessing for me. The whole earth is my country. To whatever nation they may belong, men are my countrymen. I do not know my parents: but who knows whether this is not also a blessing for me? By their desertion they freed me from respect and gratitude for the cares they might have bestowed on me, and left me at liberty to act as I pleased, without having reason to fear their control. I never had but one friend: but how many men can flatter themselves with possessing even so much? Mine is kind, sincere, and devoted. I have always felt him near me, when I wanted him to share my joy or sorrow; to support me and attach me by his friendship to the great human family, from which I should be exiled without him. I do not possess a shilling: that is also true—but what do I care for wealth? I am strong, brave, and intelligent; ought not man to work? I accomplish my task like the rest, perhaps better, for I envy nobody and am happy with my lot. You see clearly, my dear Adolfo, that life is to me at least a good and beautiful thing, as I said just now. I defy you, the skeptic and disabused man, to prove to me the contrary."
"Perfectly answered, on my word," the adventurer said. "All these reasons, though specious and easy to refute, do not the less appear very logical, and I shall not take the trouble to discuss them. Still, I will remark, my friend, that when you treat me as a skeptic, you are mistaken; disabused, perhaps, I am, but a skeptic I shall never be."
"Oh, oh!" the two young men exclaimed simultaneously. "That demands an explanation, don Adolfo."
"And I will give it you, if you insist upon it: but what is the good? Stay, I have a proposal to make to you, which I think will please you."
"Go on; speak."
"It is now nearly morning, in a few hours it will be day, none of us are sleepy, so let us remain as we are and continue to talk."
"Certainly; I desire nothing better for my part," the count said.
"And I the same. But what shall we talk about?" Dominique observed.
"If you like, I will tell you an adventure or a story—give it which name you like—that I heard this very day, and whose correctness I can guarantee; for the person who told it me, I have known a long time, and he played an important part in it."
"Why not tell us your own story, don Adolfo? It must be filled with touching events and curious incidents," the count said meaningly.
"Well, you are mistaken, Count," Oliver answered, simply. "Nothing can be less touching than what you are pleased to call my story; it is much the same as that of all smugglers, for you know, I believe," he added, confidentially, "that I am nothing else. The existence of all of us is the same; we act cunningly to pass the goods intrusted to us, and the custom house officers do the same to prevent it and seize us. Hence arise combats, which sometimes, though rarely, thank Heaven, become blood-thirsty. Such is substantially the story you ask of me, my dear Count. You see that there is nothing essentially interesting in it."
"I do not press you, dear don Adolfo," the count answered with a smile. "Pass on to something else, if you please."
"In that case," Dominique said to the adventurer, "you are at liberty to begin your story whenever you please."
Oliver filled a champagne glass with Cataluña refino, emptied it at a draught, and then struck the table with the handle of his knife.
"Attention, gentlemen," he said. "I am about to begin. I must before all claim your indulgence for certain gaps, and also for some obscure points which will be found in my narrative. I must again remark that I am merely repeating what was told to me, that consequently there are many things of which I am ignorant, and that I cannot be rendered responsible for reticences, probably made purposely by the first narrator, who no doubt had motives known to himself alone, for leaving in the dark some incidents of the day, which is, however, very curious, I assure you."
"Begin, begin," they said.
"There is another difficulty in the narrative," he continued imperturbably, "it is that I am utterly ignorant in what country it occurred: but that is only of relative importance, as men are nearly the same everywhere, that is to say, agitated and governed by identical vices and passions; all that I fancy I can be certain of is, that it took place in the Old World—but you shall judge for yourselves. Well, then, there was in Germany—let us suppose, if you please, that the scene of this truthful story is laid in Germany—there was, I was saying, a rich and powerful family, whose nobility went back to the most remote period. You know, of course, that the German nobility are the oldest in the world, and that the traditions of honour have been preserved among them almost intact to the present day. Now, the Prince of Oppenheim-Schlewig, we will call him, so as the head of the family is a prince—had two sons nearly of the same age, as there were only two or three years' difference between them; both were handsome and endowed with brilliant intellects, these two young gentlemen had been educated with the utmost care, under the eyes of their father, who attentively watched their education. It is not the same in Germany as in America, for there the power of the head of the family is very extensive and most respected. There is something truly patriarchal in the way in which the internal discipline of the household is maintained. The young men profited by the lessons they received, but as they grew older their characters became more marked, and it was soon easy to recognize a great difference between them, although both were perfect gentlemen in the common acceptation of the term. Their moral qualities, however, were completely different; the first was gentle, affable, obliging, earnest, attached to his duties, and extremely attached to the honour of his name. The second displayed very different tastes, although he was very proud and punctilious; still, he did not fear to compromise the respect he owed his name in the lowest resorts and amongst the worst company; in a word, he led a most dissipated and rackety life. The prince bewailed in secret the debauchery of his younger son; he several times summoned him to his presence, and addressed severe remonstrances to him. The young man listened to his father respectfully, promised amendment, and went on the same as before. France declared war against Germany. The Prince of Oppenheim was one of the first to obey the orders of the emperor, and place himself under his banner; his sons accompanied him as aides-de-camp, and went under fire for the first time by his side. A few days' after his arrival at the camp the prince was intrusted with a reconnaissance by the general in chief; there a sharp skirmish with the enemy's foragers, and, in the height of the action, the prince fell from his horse. His friends gathered around, him, he died: but it was a strange circumstance, and one never explained, that the bullet which caused his death had entered between his shoulders—he was shot from behind."
Don Adolfo stopped.
"Give me some drink," he said to Dominique.
The latter poured him out a glass of punch; he swallowed it almost burning, and after passing his hand over his pale, dark forehead, he resumed with pretended carelessness.
"The prince's two sons were some distance away when this catastrophe occurred, they galloped up at once, but only found their father's bleeding and disfigured corpse. The sorrow of the two young men was immense, that of the elder gloomy and restrained, as it were; that of the younger, on the contrary, noisy. In spite of the most minute research, it was impossible to discover how the prince, while at the head of his troops by whom he was adored, could have been struck from behind: this always remained a mystery. The young men left the army and returned home: the elder had assumed the title of prince and had become head of the family, as in Germany the law of entail exists in all its rigour, the younger was completely dependant on his brother, but the latter would not leave him in this inferior and humiliating condition. He gave up to him his mother's fortune, which was very considerable, left him perfectly his own master, and authorized him to take the title of marquis."
"Of duke, you mean," the count interrupted.
"That is true," don Adolfo continued, biting his lips. "Since he was a prince—but you know that we republicans," he added, "are but little used to these pompous titles, for which we profess the most profound contempt."
"Go on," Dominique said carelessly.
Don Adolfo continued: "The duke realized his fortune, bade farewell to his brother, and started for Vienna. The prince, who remained on his estate among his vassals, did not hear from his brother for long intervals; but the news he received about him was not of a pleasing nature. The duke now set no bounds to his licentiousness, and matters attained such a point that the prince was at length compelled to interfere seriously, and give his brother an order to leave the kingdom—I mean the empire—immediately, and the latter obeyed without a murmur. Several years elapsed, during which the duke travelled over the whole of Europe. Writing but rarely to his elder brother, he, however, on each occasion, spoke of the change that had taken place in him, and the radical reformation of his conduct. Whether he believed in these protestations or not, the prince thought he could not refrain from announcing to his brother that he was on the point of marrying a noble, young, lovely, and rich heiress, that the marriage was about to take place immediately, and probably expecting that distance would prevent it, he invited his brother to be present at the nuptial ceremony. If such was his idea, he was mistaken—the duke arrived on the very eve of the marriage. His brother received him very well, and gave him apartments in his palace. On the morrow the projected union was accomplished."
"The duke's conduct was irreproachable: remaining with his brother, he seemed anxious to please him in everything, and prove to him on every possible occasion that his conversion was sincere. In short, he played his part so well, that everybody was deceived, the prince first of all, who not only restored him his friendship, but soon granted him his entire confidence. The duke had returned from his travels for some months; he seemed to regard life earnestly, and to have but one desire, that of repairing the faults of his youth. Welcomed in all families, at first with a slight coldness, but ere long with distinction, he had almost succeeded in causing the errors of his past life to be forgotten, when extraordinary rejoicings took place in the county on the occasion of somefêteor anniversary. The prince naturally assumed the initiative, as was his duty; and by his brother's instigation he even resolved to take a part in them himself, in order to give them greater lustre."
"It was intended to represent a species of tournament: the first nobles of the surrounding country eagerly offered their assistance to the prince, and at length the jousting day arrived. The prince's young wife, who was in an advanced state of pregnancy, impelled by one of those presentiments which come from the heart, and never deceive, tried in vain to prevent her husband from entering the lists, confessing to himself through her tears that she apprehended a misfortune. The duke joined his sister-in-law in urging his brother to abstain from appearing at the tournament otherwise than as a spectator; but the prince, who considered his honour involved, was immoveable in his resolution, jested, treated their fears as chimerical, and mounted his horse to proceed to the scene of the tournament. An hour later he was brought back dying. By an extraordinary accident, an unheard-of fatality, the unfortunate prince had met with death at the spot where he should only have found pleasure. The duke displayed extreme sorrow at the frightful death of his brother. The prince's will was immediately opened; he appointed his brother sole heir to all his property, unless the princess, who, as I said, was in an advanced state of pregnancy, gave birth to a son, in which case this son would inherit his father's fortune and titles, and would remain till his majority under the guardianship of his uncle."
"On learning her husband's death, the princess was suddenly seized with the pangs of labour, and was delivered of a daughter. The second clause of the will being thus annulled, the duke assumed the title of prince, and took possession of his brother's fortune. The princess, in spite of the most enticing offers her brother-in-law made her, refused to continue to reside as a stranger in a palace where she had been mistress, and returned to her family."
The adventurer made a pause.
"How do you like this story?" he asked his hearers, with an ironical smile.
"I am waiting till you give us the counterpart," the count replied, "before I offer my opinion about it."
The adventurer gave him a clear and piercing glance.
"Then," he said, "you fancy this is not all?"
"Every story," the count retorted, "is composed of two distinct parts."
"That is to say?"
"The true part, and the false."
"Will you explain yourself?"
"Willingly: the false part is that which is public, which everybody knows, and can comment on and repeat as he likes."
"Good," he said, with a slight inclination of the head; "and the true part?"
"That is the secret, the mysterious part, only known to two or three persons at the most—the sheepskin removed from the wolfs shoulders."
"Or the mask of virtue torn from the face of the villain!" he exclaimed, with a terrible outburst: "Is it not that?"
"Yes, indeed, it is."
"And you wait for this second part of the story?"
"I do," the count answered, sternly.
The adventurer sat for two or three minutes with his face buried in his hands, then raised his head haughtily, emptied the glass before him, and then said, in a loud, metallic voice—
"Well, listen, then, for by heaven! I swear to you that what you are going to hear is worth the trouble, this time."
There was a rather long silence, during which the guests remained plunged in profound meditations.
At length don Adolfo broke the charm that seemed to enchain them, by suddenly speaking again.
"The princess had a brother, at that time a young man of twenty-two at the most, adroit in all manly exercises, brave as his sword, a great favourite with the ladies, whose fondness he returned, and who concealed beneath a frivolous exterior an earnest character, a capacious intellect, and an indomitable will. This brother, whom we will call Oclau, if you like, felt a sincere attachment for his sister; he loved her for all that she had suffered, and was the first to urge her to leave the palace of her defunct husband, and return to her family, chaining her down, and rejecting the offer of service made by the prince, her brother-in-law. Oclau felt a strong repulsion for the prince, although there was nothing in the eyes of society to justify the conduct he adopted towards him. Still, he did not break off all relations with him; he visited him now and then, though rarely, it is true. These interviews, always cold and constrained on the part of the young man, were cordial and eager on that of the prince, who essayed by his gracious manner, and continually renewed offers of services, to win over again this man, whose aversion he had divined. The princess, who had retired to her family, brought up her daughter far from the world, with tenderness and absolute devotion. On her husband's death she put on mourning, which she has not left off since: but this mourning she wore even more in her heart than in her garments, for the catastrophe which had deprived her of her husband was ever present to her mind, and with the tenacity of loving hearts, for whom time does not progress, her grief was as lively as on the first day; if at times, in the retreat to which she voluntarily confined herself, her brother-in-law's name was accidentally pronounced, a convulsive tremor suddenly agitated her whole person, her pale face became livid, and her large eyes, burned by fever, and inundated with tears, were at such times fixed on her brother Oclau with a strange expression of reproach and despair, seeming to say to him that the vengeance he had promised her was long delayed. The prince, now a made man, had reflected that he was the last of his race, and that it was urgent, if he did not wish the family titles and estates to pass to distant collaterals, to have an heir to his name; consequently, he commenced negotiations with several princely families of the country, and at the period we have now reached, that is to say, about eight years after his brother's death, there was a strong report about the prince's marriage with the daughter of one of the noblest houses of the Germanic Confederation. Nothing could be more suitable than this alliance, destined to augment the already proverbial importance and wealth of the house of Oppenheim-Schlewig: the lady was young, fair, and connected by marriage to the reigning family of Hapsburg. The prince, consequently, attached great importance to this union, and hurried on its completion by all the means in his power. While this was occurring, count Oclau was obliged by the settlement of some important business, to leave home, and go for some days to a town about twenty leagues distant. The young man bade farewell to his sister, got into a post chaise, and set out. On the next day, at about eight p.m., he arrived at the town of Bruneck, and stopped at a house belonging to him, which was in the vicinity of the principal square of the town, and only a few yards from the governor's palace."
"Bruneck is a very pretty little Tyrolese town, built on the right bank of the Rienz; the population, amounting to fifteen or sixteen hundred at the most, still retain the patriarchal, simple and stern manner of sixty years ago. Count Oclau remarked with surprise on entering the town that the greatest agitation prevailed there: in spite of the advanced hour, the streets his chaise passed through were filled with a restless crowd, who were running about in all directions with singular vociferations; most of the houses were illuminated, while large bonfires were lighted on the market square. So soon as the count had entered his house; he inquired as he sat down to supper the cause of this extraordinary excitement. This is what he learned:—Tyrol is an excessively mountainous country—the Switzerland of Austria; now, most of these mountains serve as lurking places for numerous bands of malefactors, whose sole occupation is to plunder the travellers whom their unlucky star brings within reach, to plunder the villages, and even towns at times. For some years a bandit chief, more adroit and enterprising than the rest, at the head of a considerable band of resolute and well-disciplined men, had desolated the country, attacking travellers, burning and plundering the villages, and not hesitating, in case of need, to resist detachments of soldiers sent in pursuit of him, who very frequently returned much maltreated from their encounters with him. This man, in the end, inspired the population of this country with such terror that the inhabitants had grown to tacitly recognize his authority, and obey him tremblingly, as they felt persuaded that it was impossible to vanquish him. The Austrian Government naturally refused to admit this compact made with the brigands, and resolving to destroy them at any price, employed the most energetic efforts to capture the chief. For a very long period all the efforts were fruitless; this man, admirably served by his spies, was kept perfectly well acquainted with the attempts about to be made against him; he formed his plans in consequence, and easily succeeded in escaping from his pursuers, and foiling all the traps that were laid for him."
"But what force had been unable to affect treachery at last accomplished. One of the associates of Red Arm (such was the bandit'salias) dissatisfied with the share given him in a rich booty made a few days previously, and believing himself injured by the chief, resolved to take vengeance by betraying him."
"A week later Red Arm was surprised by the troop, and made prisoner with the principal members of his band."
"The few men who escaped, demoralized by the capture of their chief, soon fell in their turn into the hands of the soldiers, so that the entire band was destroyed."
"The trial of the bandits was not a long one; they had been condemned to death, and executed immediately. The chief and two of his first lieutenants were alone reserved, in order to render their punishment more exemplary. They were to be executed on the morrow, and that was the reason why the town of Bruneck was in such a state of excitement."
"The neighbouring peasants had flocked out to witness the punishment of the man before whom they had so long trembled, and in order not to miss this spectacle which had such attractions for them, they camped in the streets and in the squares, impatiently awaiting the hour for the execution."
"The count attached but very slight importance to the news; and as he felt tired from having travelled two days along execrable roads, he prepared to go to bed soon after supper."
"Just as he was entering his bedroom a servant appeared, and exchanged a few words in a low voice with the valet."
"'What is it?' count Oclau asked, turning round."
"'Pardon, my lord,' the servant respectfully replied, 'but a person desires to speak to your Excellency.'"
"'Speak to me at this hour?' he said, in surprise, 'It is impossible; I have hardly arrived ere my coming is known: tell the man to return tomorrow, it is too late tonight.'"
"'I told him so, my lord, and he replied that tomorrow would be too late.'"
"'This is extraordinary! Who is the man?'"
"'A priest, my lord, and he added, that what he has to tell your Excellency is most serious, and that he earnestly implores you to receive him.'"
"The young man, greatly perplexed at a visit at so late an hour, repaired the disorder in his dress, and wandered to the dining room, curious about the solution of this enigma."
"A priest was standing in the centre of the room. He was a very aged man, his hair, white as snow, fell in long masses on his shoulders, and gave him a venerable appearance, which was completed by the expression of goodness and calm grandeur spread over his face."
"The count bowed to him respectfully, and begged him to be seated."
"'Excuse me, my lord,' he replied with a bow, and still remained on his feet, 'I am the prison chaplain: you have doubtless heard of the arrest of certain malefactors?'"
"'Yes, sir; some vague information on the subject has been given me.'"
"'Several of these unhappy men,' he continued, 'have already endured the terrible fate to which human justice condemned them. The most guilty of all, their chief, is about to undergo his at sunrise tomorrow.'"
"'I am aware of it.'"
"'This man,' the chaplain went on, 'on the point of appearing before God, his supreme judge, to whom he will have a terrible account to render, has felt, owing to my efforts to lead him to repentance, remorse enter his heart. Your arrival in this town which he learnt I know not how, has appeared to him a warning of Providence. He at once sent for me, and begged me to go to you, my lord.'"
"'To me!' the young man exclaimed, in amazement, 'What can there be in common between me and this villain?'"
"'I do not know, my lord, for he told me nothing on that subject. He implores you to proceed to his dungeon, as he desires to reveal to you a secret of the highest importance.'"
"'What you say, confounds me, sir: this man is an utter stranger to me; I do not comprehend in what way my life can be mixed up with his.'"
"'He will doubtless explain this to you, my lord; but I advise you to consent to the interview this man implores,' the priest answered without any hesitation. 'For many years I have been a prison chaplain, and have seen many criminals die. Men do not speak falsely in the presence of death. The strongest and bravest man becomes very small and weak when facing that unknown thing called Eternity; he begins to tremble, and, no longer daring to hope the goodness of men, he turns to that of God. Red Arm, the unhappy man who is about to die tomorrow, knows that nothing can save him from the terrible fate that awaits him: hence, for what object would he, on the threshold of death, request an interview with you, unless it be to redeem, by the revelation he wishes to make to you, one of his most horrible crimes, though it is possibly the least known of all. Believe me, my lord, the hand of Providence is in all this: it is no accident that brought you to this town precisely at the moment of this terrible expiation. Consent to follow me, and enter with me the dungeon where this unhappy man is doubtless awaiting, with the most lively anxiety, and while counting the minutes, your arrival. Even supposing that this revelation does not possess for you the importance this unhappy man fancies, could you refuse to grant this last consolation to a man who is about so fatally to be erased from the number of the living? I implore you, my lord, to consent to follow me.'"
"The young man's determination was soon formed. He wrapped himself in a cloak and set out of his house, accompanied by the priest. In spite of the late hour, for it was near midnight, the square was full of people. The crowd, far from diminishing, was increased every moment by the arrival of newcomers, who flocked in from the neighbouring villages. Bivouacs were everywhere established. The count and his guide forced their way with some difficulty through the crowd up to the prison, in front of which several sentries were posted."
"At a word from the chaplain the prison door was immediately opened. The count entered, and preceded by the worthy priest, and followed by a gaoler they went toward the condemned man's cell."
"The gaoler, with a torch in his hand, silently guided the two visitors along a numerous series of passages, and then, on reaching a door barred with iron from top to bottom, he checked him, uttering but one word:—'Enter!'"
"They went into the dungeon—we employ this usual term, although nothing less resembled a dungeon than the room they entered. It was a rather spacious cell, lighted by two gothic windows, lined with heavy bars on the exterior. The furniture consisted of a bed, that is to say, a frame on which a cow hide was stretched, a table and various chairs, while a looking glass hung on the wall. At the end of the room was an altar hung with black, for the condemned man was in chapel. Daily, since the passing of the sentence, the chaplain had said two low masses there for the culprit."
At this singular account of thecapillawhich only exists in Spain and her dependencies, the two hearers exchanged a side glance which the adventurer did not remark. The latter went on, without suspecting the error he had unreflectingly committed.
"The condemned man was seated in anequipal, with his head in his hand, with his elbow on the table, he was reading by the light of a smoky lamp."
"On the entrance of the visitors he immediately rose and bowed to them with the most exquisite politeness."
"'Gentlemen, pray take seats, and do me the honour of awaiting for a few minutes the arrival of the persons I have sent for,' he said, drawing upbutacas, 'their presence is indispensable, for at a later date no one must be able to cast a doubt on the truth of the revelation I wish to make to you.'"
"The chaplain and the count gave a sign of assent and sat down. There was a silence for some minutes, only interrupted by the regular steps of the sentry stationed in the passage to guard the condemned man, and who passed and repassed in front of his dungeon."
"Red Arm had returned to hisequipal, and seemed to be reflecting. The count took advantage of this circumstance to examine him attentively."
"He was a man of not more than forty years of age, he was of tall stature, and powerfully built, and his gestures displayed ease and elegance. His rather large head was, doubtless through a habit of commanding, thrown back, his features were handsome and strongly marked, while his glance had extraordinary intensity. A singular expression of gentleness and energy that was spread over his face, gave it a strange look impossible to describe; his black hair curling naturally, fell in large curls on his broad shoulders. His costume, entirely of black velvet, and peculiarly cut, formed a contrast to the dull pallor of his complexion, and added, even if possible, to the striking appearance of his whole person."
"A sound of footsteps was heard outside, a key grated in the lock, and the door opened: two men appeared. The gaoler, after introducing them into the dungeon without saying a word, went out and closed the door after him. The first of these two men was the director of the prison, an active old gentleman still, in spite of his seventy years, with calm features and venerable aspect, whose white hair cut short on his temples fell behind on his coat collar. The second was an officer—a major his gold epaulettes proved; he was young, and appeared scarce thirty, while his features had nothing very remarkable about them: he was one of those men born to wear a uniform, and who if dressed in civilian garb would appear ridiculous, so thoroughly are they created for a soldier's harness. Both bowed politely, and waited, without uttering a word, till they received an explanation of the request sent them to come to this dungeon. The condemned man understood their motive. After the first salutations had been exchanged, he hastened to make known to them his motive for requesting them to come to him at this supreme moment when he had nothing more to hope from man."
"'Gentlemen,' he said to them in a firm, voice, 'in a few short hours I shall have satisfied human justice, and will appear before that of God, which is far more terrible. Since the day when I began the implacable struggle which I have carried on against society, I have committed many crimes, secured many hatreds, and been the accomplice of an incalculable number of odious actions. The sentence passed on me is just, and though resolved to undergo—like a man whom death has never terrified—the punishment to which I am condemned, I think it my duty to confess to you with the greatest sincerity and deepest humility that I repent of my crimes, and that, far from dying impenitent, I shall die imploring God not to pardon me, but to regard my repentance with pity.'"
"'Good, my son,' the chaplain said gently; 'take refuge in God, His mercy is infinite.'"
"There was a silence of some minutes, which Red Arm was the first to interrupt."
"'I should have liked at this supreme moment,' he said, 'to repair the evil I have done. Alas! This is impossible, my victims are really gone, and no human power would be able to restore them the life of which I so cowardly deprived them; but among these crimes there is one—the most frightful of all perhaps—which, it is true, I cannot fully repair, but whose effects I hope to neutralize by revealing to you its sinister incidents, and divulging to you the name of the man who was my accomplice. God, by unexpectedly bringing count Oclau to this town, doubtless wished to force me to this expiation; I submit without a murmur to His will, and perhaps He will deign to pity me on account of my obedience. Gentlemen, in requesting you to come to me, I wish to procure the person most interested in my narrative, the indispensable witnesses who will enable human justice to punish the criminal hereafter without fear of error. Hence, gentlemen, take note of my words, for I swear to you on the brink of the tomb that they are perfectly true.'"
"The condemned man ceased, and appeared to be collecting his thoughts. His hearers waited with the most eager curiosity; the count more especially tried in vain to conceal by a cold and stern air the anxiety that was contracting his heart. A secret presentiment warned him that the light was at length about to shine, and that the hitherto impenetrable secret which surrounded his family, and the clue of which he had so long sought, was about to be divulged to him. Red Arm continued, after selecting from among the papers that crowded his table a rather large bundle, which he opened and placed before him."
"'Though eight years have elapsed,' he said, 'since the period when these events happened, they have remained so fresh in my mind that as soon as I heard of the arrival of count Oclau in this town, a few hours sufficed me to write a detailed account of them. I am about to read to you, gentlemen, this frightful story, after which each of you will attach his signature beneath mine at the end of this manuscript, in order to give it the necessary authenticity for the use which the count will think it his duty to turn it to hereafter on behalf of his family, and to punish the guilty man. I in all this have only been the paid accomplice and the instrument employed to strike the victim.'"
"'This precaution is very good,' the prison director then said: 'we will sign this revelation unhesitatingly, of whatever nature it may be.'"
"'Thanks, gentlemen,' the count remarked, 'though I am as ignorant as yourselves of the facts which are about to be revealed; still, for certain private reasons, I feel almost convinced that what I am going to hear is of great importance to the happiness of certain members of my family.'"
"'You shall be the judge of that, my lord,' the condemned man said, and immediately began reading his manuscripts."
"This reading lasted nearly two hours. The result of the collected facts was this: first, that when the Prince of Oppenheim-Schlewig was killed, the bullet came from the gun of Red Arm, who was concealed in a thicket, and paid by the prince's younger son to commit this parricide. Once he had entered on this slippery path of crime, the young man followed it without hesitation or remorse in order to reach the object he meditated, that of seizing the paternal fortune. After a parricide, a fratricide was nothing to him, and he executed it with a Machiavellism full of atrocious precautions. Other crimes, more awful still were it possible, were recorded with a truth of detail so striking, and supported by such undeniable proofs, that the witnesses summoned by the condemned criminal asked themselves, with horror, if it were possible that such an atrocious monster could exist, and what horrible punishment was reserved for him by that divine justice which he had mocked with such frightful cynicism for so many years. The princess, on learning her husband's death, had been seized by the pangs of childbirth, and was delivered—not of a daughter as everybody believed—but of twins, of whom the boy was carried off, and the prince got rid of him in order to annul the clause in his brother's will which left to his posthumous son the titles and entire fortune of the family."
"The count, with his face buried in his hands, fancied himself suffering from a horrible nightmare; in spite of the aversion he had ever felt for his brother-in-law, he would never have dared suspect him capable of committing so coldly, and at lengthened intervals, a series of odious crimes patiently arranged and meditated under the impulse of the vilest and most contemptible of all passions, the thirst for gold. He asked himself if, in spite of undeniable proofs he had thus unexpectedly obtained, there was in the whole empire a tribunal which would dare assume the possibility of punishing crimes so odious and so beyond human nature. On the other hand this revelation, if made public, would irresistibly dishonour a family to which he was closely allied: would not this dishonour be reflected on his own family? All these thoughts whirled in the count's brain, causing him horrible grief, and increasing his perplexity, for he knew not what resolution to form in so serious a case, he dared not ask advice of anyone, or seek support."
"Red Arm rose, and walking up to the count, said—'My lord, take this manuscript, it is now yours.'"
"The count mechanically took the manuscript which was offered him."
"'I can understand your astonishment and horror, sir,' the condemned man continued; 'these things are so terrible, that in spite of these stamps of truth, the exceptional circumstances under which they were written, and the authority of the persons who have signed the statement after hearing it read, it runs the risk of being doubted; hence I wish to protect you from all suspicion of imposture, my lord, by adding to this document some undeniable proofs.'"
"'Do you possess them?' the count said, with a start."
"'I do. Be good enough to open this portfolio: it contains twenty odd letters from your brother-in-law, addressed to me, and all relating to the facts recorded in this manuscript.'"
"'Oh, Heavens!' the count exclaimed, clasping his hands; but suddenly turning to Red Arm, he added,—"
"'This is strange.'"
"The convict smiled."
"'I understand you,' he answered; 'you are asking yourself how it is that, holding letters so compromising to the Prince of Oppenheim, he did not employ the power he possesses to put me out of the way, and regain possession of these proofs of his guilt?'"
"'In truth,' the count replied, amazed at finding his meaning so thoroughly divined; 'the Prince, my brother-in-law, is a man of extreme prudence, and he had too great an interest in destroying these overwhelming proofs.'"
"'Certainly; and he would not have failed, I feel convinced, to employ the most expeditious means in succeeding; but the Prince was ignorant that these proofs remained in my possession. This is how, whenever he appointed a meeting with me by letter, so soon as I arrived in his presence, I burned a letter exactly like the one I had received from him, in order to prove to him with what good faith I acted, and what confidence I had in him, so that he never supposed I had kept them. In the next place, immediately after your sister's confinement, supposing rightly that the Prince, having succeeded in his object, would desire to get rid of me, I prevented him by leaving the country suddenly. I remained in foreign parts for three years. At the expiration of that period, I spread a report of my death. I managed so that the news should reach the Prince most naturally, and as a certain thing; then I returned here. The Prince never knew my name—we gentlemen adventurers have a custom not only of changing our alias frequently, for an incognito is a safeguard for us—but also of always wearing three or four at once, in order to establish a confusion about ourselves, through which we find ourselves in perfect safety; so that, in spite of his attempts, even if the Prince had made any, of which I am ignorant, he has not succeeded in learning my existence, much less in discovering me.'"
"'But for what object did you keep these letters?'"
"'The very simple one of employing them against him; so as to compel him by the fear of a revelation to supply me with the sums I might require, when I felt inclined to give up my perilous career. As I was suddenly surprised, I could not make the desired use of them, but now I do not regret it.'"
"'I thank you,' the count replied, warmly; 'but cannot I do anything for you in your present extremity, as a recognition of so great a service?'"
"Red Arm looked cautiously around; in order to give the count full liberty to converse with the condemned man, the chaplain and the two officers had retired into the most distant corner of the cell, where they seemed to be talking with great animation."
"'Alas, my lord!' he said, lowering his voice; 'It is too late now. I should have liked—'"
"'Speak, and possibly I may be able to satisfy this last desire.'"
"'Well, be it so. It is not death that terrifies me, but, mounting an ignoble scaffold, to be exposed alive to the laughter and insults of people whom I have so long seen tremble before me: this it is that troubles my last moments, and renders me unhappy. I should like to foil the expectations of the ferocious crowd, who are rejoicing in the hope of my punishment; and that, when the moment arrives, only my corpse should be found. You see clearly that you can do nothing for me, my lord.'"
"'You are mistaken,' he answered, quickly. 'I can, on the contrary, do everything. Not only will I spare you the punishment, but your two comrades, if they like, can escape it by a voluntary death.'"
"A flash of joy glittered in the convict's savage eye."
"'Are you speaking the truth?' he asked."
"'Silence!' said the count; 'What interest could I have in deceiving you, when, on the contrary, my most eager desire is to prove my gratitude to you?'"
"'That is true; but in what way?'"
"'Listen to me. This ring I am wearing contains a poison of great subtlety. You have only to open the locket and inhale the contents to fall dead. This poison kills without suffering, and with the rapidity of lightning. One of my ancestors brought this ring from New Spain, where he was Viceroy. You are acquainted with the profound skill of the Indians in making poisons. Here is the ring; I offer it to you. Do you accept it?'"
"'Certainly!' he exclaimed, as he seized it, and quickly concealed it in his bosom. 'Thanks, my lord; you now owe me nothing, we are quits. You do more for me by the gift of this ring than I have done for you. Thanks to you, I and my poor comrades will be able to escape the ignominious fate that awaits us.'"
"They then went up to the other persons, who, on seeing the conversation ended, at once broke off their own."
"'Gentlemen,' said Red Arm, 'I thank you sincerely for having deigned to be present at the revelation which my conscience ordered me to make. Now I feel more tranquil. Only a few short moments separate me from death. Would it be asking too much to let me pass these few moments with my two comrades, who, condemned like myself, must also die today?'"
"'It is a last consolation,' said the chaplain."
"The governor of the prison reflected for a moment."
"'I see no inconvenience in granting you this request,' he at length said. 'I will give the necessary orders that your companions be brought here, and you will remain together till the moment of the execution.'"
"'Thanks, sir!' Red Arm gratefully exclaimed. 'This favour—the only one you could grant me, is of great value to me. Bless you for so much kindness!'"
"By the governor's order, the sentinel summoned the gaoler, who ran up and opened the dungeon."
"'Farewell, gentlemen,' said the convict; 'God be with you!'"
"They went out. The count, after taking leave of the chaplain and the other two persons, left the prison, crossed the square, filled with an immense crowd, and hurried home. At this moment six o'clock struck. It was the hour appointed for the execution. Suddenly, as if by enchantment, a silence of death prevailed in this crowd, an instant before so noisy and agitated. Their vengeance was at length about to be satisfied."
"Immediately he reached home, the count gave orders for his departure. He had completely forgotten the business for which he came to Bruneck: besides, had the business been even more important than it really was, it could not have retained him, so great was his anxiety to get away. Still, he was obliged to remain ten hours longer in the town. It was impossible to procure horses before three o'clock in the afternoon."
"He profited by this hindrance to take a little rest; in truth, he was utterly worn out with fatigue. He soon fell into so deep a sleep that he did not even hear the furious cries and vociferations of the crowd assembled in the square, on seeing that, instead of three criminals, whom they had so long awaited in order to enjoy their punishment, and satiate a vengeance so long desired, only three corpses were offered them. At the moment when the gaoler and officials entered the dungeon to lead the condemned men to the gallows, they only found their corpses; the men were quite dead. When the count woke, all was over, the shops were opened again, and the town had reassumed its accustomed appearance. The count enquired after his carriage, the horses had been put in and it was waiting at the door. The final preparations were soon made; the count went down."
"'Where are we going, Excellency?' the postillion asked, hat in hand."
"'The Vienna road,' the count replied, making himself as comfortable as he could in the corner of the carriage."
"The postillion cracked his whip, and they set off at full speed. The count had reflected, and the following was the result of his reflections:—only one person was powerful enough to render him thorough and prompt justice, that person was the Emperor. He must, consequently, apply to the Emperor, and that was the reason why he was going to Vienna. It is a long distance from Bruneck to Vienna; at that period, more especially when railways were only just beginning, and only existed in few places, journeys were long, fatiguing and expensive. This lasted twenty-seven days. The count's first business on arriving, was to enquire after his Imperial Majesty; the court was at Schönbrunn. Now Schönbrunn, the Saint Cloud of the Austrian Emperors, is only a league and a half from Vienna. Still, not to lose precious time in false steps, he must obtain an audience with the Emperor as speedily as possible. Count Oclau was of too great a family to be kept waiting long; two days after his arrival in Vienna an audience was granted him. The palace of Schönbrunn stands, as we said, about a league and a half from Vienna, beyond the suburb of Mariahilf and a little to the left. This imperial palace, commenced by Joseph I., and finished By María-Theresa, is a simple, elegant, and graceful building, though not without a certain majesty. It is composed of a large main building with two wings, with a double flight of steps leading to the first floor; low buildings running parallel to the main edifice, serve as offices and stables, and are attached to the end of the east of the wings, leaving merely an aperture of about thirty feet, on either side of which stands an obelisk, which thus completes the courtyard. A bridge thrown across the Vienne, a thin stream of water which falls into the Danube, gives access to the palace, behind which extends in an amphitheatrical form, an immense garden, surmounted by a belvedere, placed on the top of a large grass plot, which is flanked on the right and left by magnificent coppices full of shadow, freshness, and twittering birds. Schönbrunn, rendered celebrated by Napoleon I. residing there twice, and by the painful death of his son, bears a stamp of indescribable sadness and languor, everything is gloomy, dull, and desolate; the court with its formal etiquette and brilliant parades only imperfectly succeeds at lengthened intervals, in galvanizing this corpse. Schönbrunn, like the palace of Versailles, is only a body without a soul, and nothing could restore it to life."
"The count arrived at Schönbrunn ten minutes before his audience, which was fixed at noon. A chamberlain on duty awaited him, and at once introduced him to his majesty. The Emperor was in a private room, leaning upon a mantelpiece. The reception granted the count was most affable. The audience was a long one, it lasted nearly four hours, no one ever learned what passed between the sovereign and the subject. The last sentence of this confidential interview was alone heard. At the moment when the count took leave of the Emperor, his majesty said, while giving him his hand to kiss—"
"'I believe it will be better to act thus on behalf of the whole of the nobility, every effort must be made at any cost, to avoid the frightful scandal which the publicity of so horrible an affair would arouse; my support will never fail you. Go, my lord, and Heaven grant that you may succeed with the means I place at your service.'"
"The count bowed respectfully, and retired. The same evening he left Vienna, and took the road which would lead him home. At the same time with him, a cabinet courier sent by the Emperor, started on the same road."
On reaching this point in his narrative, the adventurer paused, and addressing Count de la Saulay, asked him:—"Do you suspect what passed between the Emperor and the count?"
"Nearly," the latter answered.
"Oh!" he said, in amazement; "I should be curious to know the result of your observations."
"You authorize me then to tell you?"
"Certainly."
"My dear don Adolfo," the count continued, "as you are aware, I am a nobleman; in France the king is only the first gentleman of his kingdom, theprimus inter pares, and I suppose that it is much the same everywhere now; any attack upon one of the members of the nobility affects the sovereign as seriously as all the other nobles of the empire. When the Regent of France condemned Count de Horn to be broken alive on the wheel upon the Place de Grève, for robbing and murdering a Jew in the Rue Quincampoix, he replied to a nobleman of the court, who interceded with him on behalf of the culprit, and represented to him that the Count de Horn, allied to reigning families, was his relative: 'When I have any bad blood, I have it taken from me;' and turned his back on the petitioner. But this did not prevent the nobility from sending their carriages to the execution of Count de Horn. Now, the fact you are talking about is nearly similar, with this exception, that the Emperor of Austria, less brave than the Regent of France, while allowing that justice ought to be dealt upon the culprit, recoiled from a publicity, which, according to his views, would brand a stigma of infamy upon the entire nobility of his country; hence, like all weak men, he satisfied himself with half measures, that is to say, he probably gave the count a blank signature, by means of which the latter, on the first plausible pretext, might put down his noble relative, kill him, or even have him assassinated, without other form of trial, and in this way, obtain by the destruction of his enemy the justice he claimed; since, the Prince once dead, it would be easy to restore to his sister-in-law or her son, in the event of his being recovered, the titles and fortune which his uncle had so criminally appropriated. This, in my opinion, is what was arranged between the Emperor and the count at the long audience granted at Schönbrunn."
"Matters turned out so in reality, Count, with the exception that the Emperor insisted that hostilities should not commence between the count and the Prince until the latter was beyond the frontiers of the empire, and the count requested the Emperor to place at his disposal all the means of action he possessed, in order to try and find his nephew again, if he still lived, and to this the Emperor consented."
"The count returned then to his castle, provided with a blank signature of his Majesty, which gave him the most extensive powers to carry out his vengeance, and in addition, with an order entirely in his Majesty's handwriting, empowering him to obtain the aid of all the imperial agents, both at home and abroad, at the first requisition. The count, as you of course understand, was but moderately satisfied with the conditions which the Emperor had imposed on him; but recognizing the impossibility of obtaining more, he was obliged to give way. For himself, he would have certainly preferred, whatever might have been the consequence, a public trial, to the paltry and disgraceful vengeance that was permitted him; but it was better, in the interests of his sister and nephew, to have obtained these semi-concessions, than to meet with a formal refusal. He immediately set to work in search of his nephew, for this search the papers which Red Arm had handed him, contained precious information. Without saying anything to his sister, through fear of giving her false hopes, he immediately went about his task. What more shall I tell you, my friends? His search was long, and is still going on; still the situation is beginning to grow clearer, and has been so fortunate as to find his nephew again: since this discovery, he has never let the young man out of sight, although the latter is ignorant to this day of the sacred bonds which attach him to the man who has brought him up, and whom he loves like a father, the count has kept this secret even from his sister, not wishing to reveal it to her till he can announce at the same time that justice has at length been done, and that the husband she has deplored for so many years is avenged. Very frequently, since that period, the two enemies have met, many opportunities have been offered the count to kill his foe, but he has never let himself be led astray by his hatred, or, to speak more truly, his hatred has given him the strength to wait; the count wishes to kill his enemy, but he desires first that the latter should dishonour himself and fall, not conquered in an honourable contest, but justly struck, like a criminal, who at last receives the chastisement of his misdeeds."
After uttering the last words the adventurer stopped. There was a lengthened silence; night was coming to an end, white gleams were beginning to filter through the half-open window; the light of the candles was growing pale; indistinct noises announced that the city was awaking, and the distant bells of monasteries and churches were summoning the faithful to early mass. The adventurer left his chair and began walking up and down the room, every now and then casting searching glances at his two companions. Dominique, thrown back in hisbutaca, with his eyes half closed, was mechanically smoking his Indian pipe. Count de la Saulay was playing the devil's tattoo on the table, while watching the adventurer's movements.
"Don Adolfo," he suddenly said to him, as he raised his head and looked him full in the face, "your story has ended then?"
"Yes," the adventurer answered, laconically.
"You have nothing more to add?"
"No."
"Well, excuse me, my friend, but I fancy you are mistaken."
"I do not understand you, my dear count."
"I will explain myself; but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you will not interrupt me."
"Very good, if you insist. Now I will listen to you."
"My friend," the count said, "the first friendly face I met on landing in America was yours; though we were placed in very different situations, accident was pleased to bring us together with such persistency, that what was at first but a passing acquaintance has become, without either of us knowing how, a sincere and profound affection. It is not possible to become so connected with a man without studying his character a little, which I have done with you, and you doubtless have done with me. Now, I believe that I know you intimately enough, my friend, to feel convinced that you did not come suddenly to our house tonight with the mere object of supping, or, forgive the phrase, indulging in adébauche, which does not agree with your character or morals, as you are the most sincerely sober man I ever met. Moreover, I ask myself, why you, so chary of your words, and especially of your secrets, have told us this story, very interesting, I allow, but which, apparently, does not concern us in any way, and can have but a very secondary interest for us. To this I answer that if you thus came to ask of us a supper, which you could very well have done without, you came expressly to tell us this narrative: that it interests you more than us, and I conclude that you have still something to tell us, or, to speak more clearly, to ask of us."
"That is evident," said Dominique.
"Well yes: all you have supposed is true—the supper was only a pretext, and I really only came here tonight with the intention of telling you the story you have just heard."
"Very good," said Dominique, joyously, "that, at any rate, is being frank."
"Still I confess," the adventurer continued sadly, "that I now hesitate because I am afraid."
"You afraid? And of what?" the two young men exclaimed in surprise.
"I am afraid, because this long story must shortly have its conclusion; because this conclusion must be terrible and though when I came here I intended to ask your assistance, I have since reflected, and recoil from the idea of mixing you up, you who are so young, happy, and careless, even indirectly, in this horrible story to which you ought to remain strangers. Pray, my friends, forget all you have heard—it is only a story told after drinking."
"No, on my honour, don Adolfo," the count exclaimed, energetically, "it shall not be so, I swear, and I speak for myself and Dominique: you want us and here we are. I know not what mysterious interest you have in this affair. I do not even wish to discover the motives that lead you to act, but I repeat to you, if you were to send us away when you are going to incur a great danger, which we might, perhaps, protect you from by sharing it with you, it would be a proof to us that you entertain neither esteem nor friendship, and that you regard us rather as thoughtless young people than men of courage."
"You go too far, my dear count!" the adventurer warmly exclaimed. "I never had such ideas, far from it. Still, I repeat, I tremble at the thought of mixing you up in this affair, which does not concern you."
"Pardon me, my friend; from the moment it interests you, it concerns us, and we have the right to mix ourselves up in it."
The adventurer hung his head and began walking up and down the room again in great agitation.
"Well, be it so, my friends," he said at the end of a moment, "since you insist, we will act in concert. You will aid me in what I have undertaken, and I hope that we shall succeed."
"I feel convinced of it," said the count.
"Let us go then," Dominique said, rising from the table.
"Not yet: but the moment is at hand. I swear to you that you will not have long to wait. Now, one last toast, and good-bye. Ah! I forgot: in the event of my not being able to come to you myself, this is the signal—one and two make three. It is very simple and you will remember it, I think?"
"Perfectly."
"In that case, good-bye."
Five minutes later he had left the house.
The small suburban house in which doña Dolores had found such a secure shelter between doña María and doña Carmen, though simple and comparatively unimportant, was a delightful abode, furnished very plainly, but with perfect taste. In the rear, a rarity in Mexico, was a small but well laid-out garden, full of shade and freshness, which afforded a charming retreat from the heat of the sun at the burning hour of noon. It was in these fragrant clumps that the young ladies hid themselves, to prattle and gossip at liberty, responding, by the sweet bursts of their laughter, to the joyous songs of the birds. Three persons alone were admitted to the house: they were the adventurer, the count, and Dominique. The adventurer, incessantly absorbed by his mysterious occupations, only made rare and short visits there. It was not the same with the young men. During the first days they had strictly conformed to their friend's recommendations, and paid short, and, so to speak, stealthy visits, but gradually led on by the invisible charms which unconsciously attracted them, the visits were multiplied, became longer, and inventing all sorts of pretexts, they at last came to spend nearly the whole day with the ladies.
One day, while the inhabitants of the small house had withdrawn to the garden and were gaily conversing together, a frightful tumult was heard outside. The old servant ran in great alarm to inform his mistress that a band of ruffians, assembled before the house, insisted on having the gate opened to them, threatening to break it down if they were not obeyed. The count re-assured doña María, told her to fear nothing, and after begging her and the young ladies not to leave the garden, he and Dominique advanced to the outer door. Raimbaut had accidentally come a few minutes previously to bring his master a letter, and his presence, under the circumstances, became very valuable. The three men took their double-barrelled guns and revolvers, and after making their arrangements in a few words, the count approached the gate, on which furious blows were being dealt outside, and ordered the old servant to open it. The gate was hardly opened ere there was an awful pushing, and a dozen individuals rushed into thezaguánwith furious shouts and yells. But suddenly they stopped. Before them, at ten paces distance at the most, three men were standing with shouldered guns, ready to pull the trigger. The bandits, who were mostly unarmed, as they were so fully convinced of meeting with no resistance, and who only had the knives thrust through their belts, stood struck with stupor at the sight of the guns levelled at them. The fierce looks of these three men awed them; they hesitated, and finally stopped short, exchanging glances of alarm. This was not what had been announced to them: this house, apparently so tranquil, contained a formidable garrison. The count handed his gun to the old man servant, and drawing his revolver, advanced resolutely toward the ruffians. The latter, by an opposite movement, commenced to recoil step by step, so that they soon reached the gate; then, turning round with a bound, they rushed out. The count quickly locked the gate after them. The young men laughed heartily at their easy victory, and rejoined the ladies, who had hidden themselves, all trembling, in the thickets. This lesson had been sufficient; henceforth the quiet of the inhabitants of the small house was undisturbed.
Still, doña María, grateful for the service the young men had done her, not only did not think that they paid too long visits, but even when they proposed to retire, she invited them to remain. It is true that the young ladies joined their entreaties to hers, so that the count and his friend easily allowed themselves to be induced to remain, and thus passed the greater part of the day with them.
It was the day after the night don Adolfo had spent in supping so heartily with his friends; noon had long struck from all the city churches, and the young men, who generally presented themselves at doña María's at eleven o'clock, had not yet made their appearance. The two young ladies, who were in the dining room, pretended to be arranging and dusting the furniture, so as not to go and join doña María, who had been for a long time expecting them in the garden. Though they did not speak, the girls, while arranging, or rather deranging the furniture, had their eyes incessantly fixed on the clock.
"Can you understand, Carmelita," doña Dolores at length said with a delicious pout, "why my cousin has not yet arrived?"
"It is inconceivable, querida," doña Carmen at once answered. "I confess that I feel very anxious, for the city is in a disturbed state at this moment, I hear. I only hope nothing unpleasant has happened to the two poor young gentlemen."
"Oh! It would be frightful if any accident were to happen to them!"
"What would become of us alone and unprotected in this house? Had it not been for their assistance, we should have been assassinated before."
"The more so, because we cannot count on don Jaime, who is always absent."
The young ladies heaved a sigh, looked at each other silently for a moment, and then fell into one another's arms with a burst of tears. They understood each other. It was not for themselves they feared.
"You love him, then?" doña Dolores at length whispered in her friend's ear.
"Oh, yes," she replied softly. "And you?"