THE BETROTHAL.
André Certa, entirely recovered, sure of the death of Martin Paz,
pressed his marriage: he was impatient to parade the young and beautiful
Jewess through the streets of Lima.
Sarah constantly manifested toward him a haughty indifference; but he
cared not for it, considering her as an article of sale, for which he
had paid a hundred thousand piasters.
And yet André Certa suspected the Jew, and with good reason; if the
contract was dishonorable, the contractors were still more so. So the
mestizo wished to have a secret interview with Samuel, and took him one
day to the Baths of Chorillos.
He was not sorry, besides, to try the chances of play before his
wedding: public gaming, prohibited at Lima, is perfectly tolerated
elsewhere. The passion of the Limanian ladies and gentlemen for this
hazardous amusement is singular and irresistible.
The games were open some days before the arrival of the Marquis Don
Vegal; thenceforth there was a perpetual movement of the populace on the
road from Lima: some came on foot, who returned in carriages; others
were about to risk and lose the last remnants of their fortunes.
Don Vegal and Martin Paz took no part in these exciting pleasures. The
reveries of the young Indian had more noble causes; he was thinking of
Sarah and of his benefactor.
The concourse of the Limanians to the Baths of Chorillos was without
danger for him; little known by the inhabitants of the city, like all
the mountain Indians he easily concealed himself from all eyes.
After his evening walk with the marquis, Martin Paz would return to his
room, and leaning his elbow on the window, pass long hours in allowing
his tumultuous thoughts to wander over the Pacific Ocean. Don Vegal
lodged in a neighboring chamber, and guarded him with paternal
tenderness.
The Spaniard always remembered the daughter of Samuel, whom he had so
unexpectedly seen at prayer in the Catholic temple. But he had not dared
to confide this important secret to Martin Paz while instructing him by
degrees in Christian truths; he feared to re-animate sentiments which he
wished to extinguish--for the poor Indian, unknown and proscribed, must
renounce all hope of happiness! Father Joachim kept Don Vegal informed
of the progress of affairs: the police had at last ceased to trouble
themselves about Martin Paz; and with time and the influence of his
protector, the Indian, become a man of merit and capable of great
things, might one day take rank in the highest Peruvian society.
Weary of the uncertainty into which his incognito plunged him, Paz
resolved to know what had become of the young Jewess. Thanks to his
Spanish costume, he could glide into a gaming-saloon, and listen to the
conversation of its various frequenters. André Certa was a man of so
much importance, that his marriage, if it was approaching, would be the
subject of conversation.
One evening, instead of directing his steps toward the sea, the Indian
climbed over the high rocks on which the principal habitations of
Chorillos are built; a house, fronted by broad stone steps, struck his
eyes--he entered it without noise.
The day had been hard for many of the wealthy Limanians; some among
them, exhausted with the fatigues of the preceding night, were reposing
on the ground, wrapped in their _ponchos_.
Other players were seated before a large green table, divided into four
compartments by two lines, which intersected each other at the centre in
right angles; on each of these compartments were the first letters of
the words _azar_ and _suerte_, (chance and fate,) A and S.
At this moment, the parties of the _monte_ were animated; a mestizo was
pursuing the unfavorable chance with feverish ardor.
"Two thousand piasters!" exclaimed he.
The banker shook the dice, and the player burst into imprecations.
"Four thousand piasters!" said he, again. And he lost once more.
Martin Paz, protected by the obscurity of the saloon, could look the
player in the face, and he turned pale.
It was André Certa!
Near him, was standing the Jew Samuel.
"You have played enough, Señor André," said Samuel to him; "the luck is
not for you."
"What business is it of yours?" replied the mestizo, roughly.
Samuel bent down to his ear.
"If it is not my business, it is your business to break off these habits
during the days which precede your marriage."
"Eight thousand piasters!" resumed André Certa.
He lost again: the mestizo suppressed a curse and the banker
resumed--"Play on!"
André Certa, drawing from his pocket some bills, was about to have
hazarded a considerable sum; he had even deposited it on one of the
tables, and the banker, shaking his dice, was about to have decided its
fate, when a sign from Samuel stopped him short. The Jew bent again to
the ear of the mestizo, and said--
"If nothing remains to you to conclude our bargain, it shall be broken
off this evening!"
André Certa shrugged his shoulders, took up his money, and went out.
"Continue now," said Samuel to the banker; "you may ruin this gentleman
after his marriage."
The banker bowed submissively. The Jew Samuel was the founder and
proprietor of the games of Chorillos. Wherever there was a _real_ to be
made this man was to be met with.
He followed the mestizo; and finding him on the stone steps, said to
him--
"I have secrets of importance to communicate. Where can we converse in
safety?"
"Wherever you please," replied Certa, roughly.
"Señor, let not your passions ruin your prospects. I would neither
confide my secret to the most carefully closed chambers, nor the most
lonely plains. If you pay me dearly for it, it is because it is worth
telling and worth keeping."
As they spoke thus, these two men had reached the sea, near the cabins
destined for the use of the bathers. They knew not that they were seen,
heard and watched by Martin Paz, who glided like a serpent in the
shadow.
"Let us take a canoe," said André, "and go out into the open sea; the
sharks may, perhaps, show themselves discreet."
André detached from the shore a little boat, and threw some money to its
guardian. Samuel embarked with him, and the mestizo pushed off. He
vigorously plied two flexible oars, which soon took them a mile from the
shore.
But as he saw the canoe put off, Martin Paz, concealed in a crevice of
the rock, hastily undressed, and precipitating himself into the sea,
swam vigorously toward the boat.
The sun had just buried his last rays in the waves of the ocean, and
darkness hovered over the crests of the waves.
Martin Paz had not once reflected that sharks of the most dangerous
species frequented these fatal shores. He stopped not far from the boat
of the mestizo, and listened.
"_But what proof of the identity of the daughter shall I carry to the
father?_" asked André Certa of the Jew.
"You will recall to him the circumstances under which he lost her."
"What were these circumstances?"
Martin Paz, now scarcely above the waves, listened without
understanding. In a girdle attached to his body, he had a poignard; he
waited.
"Her father," said the Jew, "lived at Concencion, in Chili: he was then
the great nobleman he is now; only his fortune equalled his nobility.
Obliged to come to Lima on business, he set out alone, leaving at
Concencion his wife, and child aged fifteen months. The climate of Peru
agreed with him, and he sent for the marchioness to rejoin him. She
embarked on the _San-José_ of Valparaiso, with her confidential
servants.
"I was going to Peru in the same ship. The _San-José_ was about to enter
the harbor of Lima; but, near Juan Fernandez, was struck by a terrific
hurricane, which disabled her and threw her on her side--it was the
affair of half an hour. The _San-José_ filled with water and was slowly
sinking; the passengers and crew took refuge in the boat, but at sight
of the furious waves, the marchioness refused to enter it; she pressed
her infant in her arms, and remained in the ship. I remained with
her--the boat was swallowed up at a hundred fathoms from the _San-José_,
with all her crew. We were alone--the tempest blew with increasing
violence. As my fortune was not on board, I had nothing to lose. The
_San-José_, having five feet of water in her hold, drifted on the rocks
of the shore, where she broke to pieces. The young woman was thrown into
the sea with her daughter: fortunately, for me," said the Jew, with a
gloomy smile, "I could seize the child, and reach the shore with it."
"All these details are exact?"
"Perfectly so. The father will recognize them. I had done a good day's
work, señor; since she is worth to me the hundred thousand piasters
which you are about to pay me. Now, let the marriage take place
to-morrow."
"What does this mean?" asked Martin Paz of himself, still swimming in
the shadow.
"Here is my pocket-book, with the hundred thousand piasters--take it,
Master Samuel," replied André Certa to the Jew.
"Thanks, Señor André," said the Israelite, seizing the treasure; "take
this receipt in exchange--I pledge myself to restore you double this
sum, if you do not become a member of one of the proudest families of
Spain."
But the Indian had not heard this last sentence; he had dived to avoid
the approach of the boat, and his eyes could see a shapeless mass
gliding rapidly toward him. He thought it was the canoe--he was
mistaken.
It was a _tintorea_; a shark of the most ferocious species.
Martin Paz did not quail, or he would have been lost. The animal
approached him--the Indian dived; but he was obliged to come up, in
order to breathe.... He looked at the sky, as if he was never to behold
it again. The stars sparkled above his head; the _tintorea_ continued to
approach. A vigorous blow with his tail struck the swimmer; Martin Paz
felt his slimy scales brush his breast. The shark, in order to snatch at
him, turned on his back and opened his jaws, armed with a triple row of
teeth. Martin Paz saw the white belly of the animal gleam beneath the
wave, and with a rapid hand struck it with his poignard.
Suddenly he found the waters around him red with blood. He dived--came
up again at ten fathoms' distance--thought of the daughter of Samuel;
and seeing nothing more of the boat of the mestizo, regained the shore
in a few strokes, already forgetting that he had just escaped death.
He quickly rejoined Don Vegal. The latter, not having found him on his
return, was anxiously awaiting him. Paz made no allusion to his recent
adventures; but seemed to take a lively pleasure in his conversation.
But the next day Martin Paz had left Chorillos, and Don Vegal, tortured
with anxiety, hastily returned to Lima.
The marriage of André Certa with the daughter of the wealthy Samuel, was
an important event. The beautiful señoras had not given themselves a
moment's rest; they had exhausted their ingenuity to invent some pretty
corsage or novel head-dress; they had wearied themselves in trying
without cessation the most varied toilets.
Numerous preparations were also going on in the house of Samuel; it was
a part of the Jew's plan to give great publicity to the marriage of
Sarah. The frescoes which adorned his dwelling according to the Spanish
custom, had been newly painted; the richest hangings fell in large folds
at the windows and doors of the habitation. Furniture carved in the
latest fashion, of precious or fragrant wood, was crowded in vast
saloons, impregnated with a delicious coolness. Rare shrubs, the
productions of warm countries, seized the eye with their splendid
colors, and one would have thought Spring had stolen along the balconies
and terraces, to inundate them with flowers and perfumes.
Meanwhile, amid these smiling marvels, the young girl was weeping; Sarah
no longer had hope, since the Sambo had none; and the Sambo had no hope,
since he wore no sign of hope! The negro Liberta had watched the steps
of the old Indian; he had seen nothing. Ah! if the poor child could have
followed the impulses of her heart, she would have immured herself in
one of those tranquil _beaterios_, to die there amid tears and prayer.
Urged by an irresistible attraction to the doctrines of Catholicism, the
young Jewess had been secretly converted; by the cares of the good
Father Joachim, she had been won over to a religion more in accordance
with her feelings than that in which she had been educated. If Samuel
had destined her for a Jew, she would have avowed her faith; but, about
to espouse a Catholic, she reserved for her husband the secret of her
conversion.
Father Joachim, in order to avoid scandal, and besides, better read in
his breviary than in the human heart, had suffered Sarah to believe in
the death of Martin Paz. The conversion of the young girl was the most
important thing to him; he saw it assured by her union with André Certa,
and he sought to accustom her to the idea of this marriage, the
conditions of which he was far from respecting.
At last the day so joyous for some, so sad for others, had arrived.
André Certa had invited the entire city to his nuptials; his invitations
were refused by the noble families, who excused themselves on various
pretexts. The mestizo, meanwhile, proudly held up his head, and scarcely
looked at those of his own class. The little Milleflores in vain essayed
his humblest vows; but he consoled himself with the idea that he was
about to figure as an active party in the repast which was to follow.
In the meantime, the young mestizoes were discoursing with him in the
brilliant saloons of the Jew, and the crowd of guests thronged around
André Certa, who proudly displayed the splendors of his toilet.
The contract was soon to be signed; the sun had long been set, and the
young girl had not appeared.
Doubtless she was discussing with her duenna and her maids the place of
a ribbon or the choice of an ornament. Perhaps, that enchanting timidity
which so beautifully adorns the cheeks of a young girl, detained her
still from their inquisitive regards.
The Jew Samuel seemed a prey to secret uneasiness; André Certa bent his
brow in an impatient manner; a sort of embarrassment was depicted on the
countenance of more than one guest, while the thousand of wax-lights,
reflected by the mirrors, filled the saloon with dazzling splendor.
Without, a man was wandering in mortal anxiety; it was the Marquis Don
Vegal.