DON DIEGO.
Don Melchior de la Cruz resolved to seize at any price the fortune
of his father, which his sister's marriage threatened to make him
hopelessly lose, had rushed headlong into politics, hoping to find amid
the failures which had so long distracted his country, the occasion to
satisfy his ambition and insatiable avarice by fishing largely in the
troubled waters of revolutions. Endowed with an energetic character
and great intelligence, a true political condottiere, passing without
hesitation or remorse from one party to another, according to the
advantages offered him, ever ready to serve the man who paid him best,
he had contrived to render himself master of important secrets which
made him feared by all, and gained him a certain degree of credit with
the chiefs of parties whom he had served in turn; a well-born spy he
had managed to get in everywhere, and join all the fraternities and
secret societies, for he possessed in a most eminent degree the talent
so envied by the most renowned diplomatists, of naturally feigning
the most opposite feelings and opinions. It was thus that he became
a member of the mysterious society Union and Strength, by which he
was eventually condemned to death, with the predetermined resolution
of selling the secrets of this formidable association whenever a
favourable opportunity presented itself. Don Antonio de Cacerbar was
shortly after made a member of the same association. These two men
were made to understand each other at the first word, and they did
so. The most intimate friendship ere long united them. When, at the
beginning of their connection, don Antonio de Cacerbar, owing to
anonymous revelations, was convicted of treachery, condemned by the
mysterious association, and obliged to defend his life against one of
the members, fell beneath his adversary's sword, and was left for dead
on the road, where Dominique found him, as we have previously related.
Don Melchior, who had been watching this sanguinary execution from a
distance, resolved, were it possible, to save this man who inspired
him with such warm sympathy. After the departure of his comrades, he
hurried up as soon as he dared with the intention of succouring the
wounded man, but did not find him; chance, by bringing Dominique to
the spot, had deprived him, to his great regret, of the opportunity he
desired for rendering don Antonio his debtor. At a later date, when
don Antonio, half cured, escaped from the grotto where he was being
nursed, the two men met again; more fortunate this time, don Melchior
had rendered his friend important services. The latter, in his turn,
had been able on several occasions to let the young man profit by the
occult influence which he had at his disposal. The only difference was,
that if don Antonio was thoroughly aware of his partner's affairs,
of the object he proposed to himself, and the means he intended to
employ in attaining it, the same was not the case with don Melchior
as regarded don Antonio de Cacerbar, who remained an undecipherable
mystery to him. Still the young man, though he had several times tried
to make his friend speak, and lead him into confessions which would
have given certain prerogatives, but never succeeded, did not for all
that resign the hope of discovering one day what the other appeared to
have so great an interest in hiding.
The last service which don Antonio had rendered him, by making him so
unexpectedly escape from the implacable justice of the members of the
Union and Strength society, had rendered don Melchior temporarily,
at any rate, dependant on him. Don Antonio seemed to make it to some
extent a point of honour not to remind don Melchior of the immense
danger from which he had saved him; he continued to serve him as he
had hitherto done. The first care of the young man, on returning to
Puebla, had been to proceed in all haste to the convent in which he had
confined his sister after carrying her off; but, as he had a secret
presentiment, he found the bird flown. Don Antonio had said but a few
words to him on this subject, but they had a terrible eloquence.
"Only the dead do not escape," he had remarked.
Don Melchior bowed his head, recognizing the correctness of this
remark. All the young man's searches in Puebla were vain: no one could
or would tell him anything; the mother superior of the convent was dumb.
"Let us go to Mexico; we shall find her there if she be not dead
already," don Antonio said to him.
They set out. What means don Antonio employed to discover the retreat
of doña Dolores, we are unable to say, but so much is certain, that two
days after his arrival in the capital, he was acquainted with the young
lady's residence.
Let us leave for a short season these two men, whom we shall meet
again but too soon, and describe how doña Dolores had been liberated.
The young lady was placed, by don Melchior's orders, in a convent of
Carmelite nuns. The mother superior--whom don Melchior succeeded in
winning to his interests by a large sum of money he paid her, and
the promise of larger sums if she executed his orders zealously and
intelligently--did not allow the young lady to receive any visitors
but her brother, she was forbidden to write letters, and those that
arrived for her were pitilessly intercepted. Dolores thus passed sad
and monotonous days in a narrow cell, deprived of all relations with
the outer world, and no longer retaining even the hope of being some
day restored to liberty; her brother had made known to her his will
in this respect; he insisted on her taking the veil. This was the
only method don Melchior had found to force his sister to give up her
fortune to him, by renouncing the world. Still don Melchior, though he
had got himself named his sister's guardian, could not have taken her
to a convent without a written order of the governor; but this had been
easily obtained, and handed by don Diego Izaguirre--private secretary
to his Excellency the Governor--to the mother superior when the young
lady was taken to the convent.
At about nine o'clock on the night of the day when don Melchior had
been so adroitly carried off by don Adolfo, whom he believed his
prisoner, three men wrapped in thick cloaks, and mounted on handsome
and powerful Spanish genets, stopped at the gate of the convent,
at which they rapped. The lay sister opened a wicket in this gate,
exchanged a few words in a low voice with one of the horsemen who had
dismounted, and evidently satisfied with the answers she received, she
set the gate on the jar to admit this late visitor. The latter threw
his horse's bridle to one of his companions; while the latter awaited
him outside, he went in, and the gate was closed after him. After
passing along several corridors, the porteress opened the abbess' cell,
and announced don Diego Izaguirre, private secretary to His Excellency
the Governor. Don Diego, after exchanging a few compliments, drew a
sealed letter from his dolman, and handed it to the superior, who
opened and hastily read it.
"Very good, señor," she answered, "I am ready to obey you."
"Please, madam, carefully do bear in mind the tenour of the order I
have communicated to you, and which I am compelled to request back.
Everybody, you understand, madam," he said, laying a marked stress on
the word, "must be ignorant how doña Dolores has left the convent: this
recommendation is of the highest importance."
"I will not forget it, señor."
"You are at liberty to say that she has escaped. Now, madam, be kind
enough to warn doña Dolores."
The superior left don Diego in her cell, and went herself to fetch doña
Dolores. So soon as he was alone, the young man tore into impalpable
fragments the order he had shown the superior, and threw them into the
_brasero_, when the fire immediately consumed them.
"I am not at all desirous," don Diego said as he watched them burning,
"that the governor should perceive one day the perfection with which I
imitate his signature, for it might cause him to feel jealous;" and he
smiled with an air of mockery.
The superior was not absent more than a quarter of an hour.
"Here is doña Dolores de la Cruz," said the abbess; "I have the honour
of delivering her into your hands."
"Very good, madam; I hope soon to prove to you that his Excellency
knows how, when the opportunity offers, worthily to reward those
persons who obey him without hesitation."
The mother superior bowed humbly, and raised her eyes to Heaven.
"Are you ready, señorita?" don Diego asked the young lady.
"Yes," she answered laconically.
"In that case be kind enough to follow me."
"Go on," she said, wrapping herself in her cloak, and taking no
further leave of the abbess. They then left the cell, and guided by
the superior, reached the convent gate. By some slight pretext the
abbess had had the precaution to remove the porteress. She opened the
gate herself, and then, when don Diego and the young lady had passed
through, she gave a farewell bow to the secretary, and closed the gate
again, as if anxious to be delivered from the alarm that his presence
caused her.
"Señorita," don Diego said respectfully, "be kind enough to mount this
horse."
"Señor," she said in a sad but firm voice, "I am a poor defenseless
orphan: I obey you, because any resistance on my part would be madness;
but--"
"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 abandoned _rancho_, 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
him _carte blanche_ in 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!"