SUNNY HOURS.
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One day, while the inhabitants of the small house had withdrawn to the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 the _zaguán_ with 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?"
"I too."
The confession was made; they now understood one another, and had
nothing further to conceal.
"How long have you loved him?" doña Carmen continued.
"I do not know, but I fancy that I have always loved him."
"It is the same with me."
Nothing is so sweet and pure as a girl's simple love. It is the soul
scarce awake to human sensations, which seeks its lovely angelic wings
to fly toward the unknown regions of the ideal.
"And does he love you?" Carmen asked softly.
"Yes, since I love him."
"That is true," she replied, quite convinced.
Love has this adorable thing about it, that it is essentially
illogical; were it not so, it would not be love. Suddenly the young
ladies rose, and laid their hands on their heart.
"Here he is," said Dolores.
"He is coming," Carmen remarked.
How did they know? The deepest silence prevailed outside. Then,
quitting the dining room, they fled to the garden like startled doves.
Almost immediately there was a knock at the door. The old servant
doubtless recognized the knock, for he at once opened. The count and
his friend entered.
"The ladies?" the count asked.
"In the _huerta_, Excellency," the servant answered, as he closed the
door after them.
The ladies were seated in an arbour; doña María was embroidering, the
young ladies were attentively reading--so attentively, indeed, that,
though they suddenly blushed, they did not hear the sound of their
visitors' footsteps on the gravel walks, and were greatly surprised on
perceiving them.
The gentlemen took off their hats on entering the arbour, and bowed
respectfully to the ladies.
"Here you are at last, gentlemen," doña María remarked with a smile;
"do you know that we felt very anxious?"
"Oh!" said doña Carmen with a pout.
"Not so very," doña Dolores murmured, "these gentlemen have doubtless
found an opportunity to amuse themselves elsewhere and took advantage
of it."
The count and Dominique gazed at the young ladies in surprise, for they
did not understand.
"Come, come, little mad caps," doña María said gently: "do not torment
the poor young men so, you render them quite confused: it is probable
that they did not come sooner because they were prevented."
"Oh! These gentlemen are perfectly at liberty to come when they
please:" doña Dolores said disdainfully.
"We should be sorry to feel angry with them for such a trifle," Carmen
added with the same tone.
This was the death shot for the young men, and they completely lost
countenance. The teasing girls looked at them for a second, and then
burst into such a frank and sudden laugh, that the count and Dominique
turned pale with annoyance.
"¡Viva Dios!" the _vaquero_ exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily, "It
is too unkind to punish us thus for a fault we have not committed."
"Don Adolfo detained us against our will!" the count said.
"You have seen don Jaime?" doña María asked.
"Yes, madam, he paid us a visit at eleven o'clock last night."
The young men then took chairs, and a pleasant conversation was carried
on. Doña Carmen and Dolores continued to tease them: they were happy at
having made them so utterly disconcerted, though in their hearts they
felt a grudge because their lovers had not comprehended the feeling
that dictated their reproaches. As for the count and Dominique, they
felt happy in being by the side of these lovely and simple girls,
they intoxicated themselves with the fire of their glances, listened
with ravishment to the sweet music of their voice, without thinking
of anything but enjoying as long as possible the easy happiness which
they thus procured. The entire afternoon passed in this way with the
rapidity of a dream. At nine o'clock they took leave and returned home
without exchanging a word.
"Do you feel inclined to sleep?" the count asked his friend, as soon as
they reached their apartments.
"Really, no," the latter answered; "why?"
"Because I should like to talk with you."
"Well, that is capital, for I too want to talk to you."
"Ah," said the count: "well, if you like, we will talk over a cigar and
a glass of punch."
"That will be excellent."
The young men sat down opposite each other and lit their cigars.
"What a charming day we have spent!" the count said.
"How could it be otherwise," Dominique asked, "with such amiable
persons?"
And as if by common accord the young men sighed. The count suddenly
seemed to form a determination.
"Come," he said to his friend, "will you be frank?"
"With you I shall always be so, as you are well aware," Dominique
answered.
"Well, listen to me: you are aware that I have only been a few months
in Mexico, but what you know only vaguely is the motive that brought
me to this country."
"I fancy I was told you had come here with the intention of marrying
your cousin, doña Dolores de la Cruz."
"That is true: but what you do not know is the way in which this
marriage was arranged, and the motives that prevent me from breaking it
off."
"Ah!" said Dominique.
"I will be brief: know then that while still a child, by the conditions
of a family compact I was betrothed to my cousin doña Dolores, of whose
existence even I was ignorant. When I became a man, my parents called
on me to fulfil this engagement, which they had made in my name without
consulting me. In spite of the very natural repugnance I felt for
this strange union with a woman whom I did not know, I was compelled
to obey. I quitted with regret the happy careless life I was leading
in Paris among my friends, and embarked for Mexico. Don Andrés de la
Cruz received me on my arrival with the liveliest joy, overwhelmed me
with the most delicate attentions, and introduced me to his daughter,
my betrothed. Doña Dolores received me coldly, even more than coldly:
evidently she was no more satisfied than myself with the union she was
forced to contract with a stranger, and felt hurt at the right her
father had thus arrogated of disposing of her hand without consulting
her, or even warning her; for doña Dolores, as I learned afterwards,
was perfectly ignorant of the compact concluded between the two
branches of our family. As for myself, delighted at the cool reception
which I received from the woman I was destined to marry, I hoped that
possibly this union might not be completed. Doña, Dolores is very
beautiful, as you are aware."
"Ah, yes," Dominique muttered.
"Her character is charming, her mind cultivated--in a word, she
combines all the graces and seductive attractions which make an
accomplished woman."
"Oh, yes," Dominique repeated; "all that you are saying is perfectly
true."
"Well, I cannot love her, the feeling is stronger than I am; and yet
duty--duty forces me to marry her, for doña Dolores has suddenly become
an orphan. She is almost ruined, and surrendered defenselessly to her
brother's hatred: betrothed to her against my will, it is true, but
very really betrothed, honour orders me to carry out this union, the
last wish of her dying father; and yet I love--"
"What do you say?" Dominique exclaimed in a panting voice.
"Forgive me, Dominique; I love doña Carmen."
"Oh, thanks, Great Heaven!"
"What do you mean?"
"I love too," said Dominique; "you render me very happy, for the woman
I love is doña Dolores!"
The count offered his hand to Dominique, but the latter threw himself
into his arms. They held each other closely embraced for some time, but
at last the count gently liberated himself.
"Let us hope!" he said; and this one word contained the feelings which
were boiling in his heart.