A CONVERSATION.
Among the persons present at the meeting, was one to whom we have
not alluded, although he is destined to play an important part in
this story, and who perhaps listened with more interest than anyone
else to what was said. This person, to whom we have now to turn our
attention, was Sotavento, the Indian majordomo, so liked by Don Aníbal
de Saldibar, and whose gloomy outline was described in our earlier
chapters.
Sotavento had not altered; nearly a dozen years had passed over his
head without leaving the slightest trace; his hair was still as
black, his face as cold, and his person as upright. Indians have this
peculiarity, that, whatever their age may be, they always seem young,
and do not really begin to display any signs of decrepitude until they
reach the last limits of old age.
We several times came across redskins who mentioned to us facts that
occurred sixty years back, and yet they did not themselves look more
than five and thirty. Moreover, it is impossible to fix with any
certainty an Indian's age, even when his features bear the stamp of
senility, for the simple reason that the savages do not try by any
ceremony to fix in their minds the precise date of their children's
birth, and limit themselves to recording, by the name they give
them, at what spot, in what season, and under what physical or moral
influence they are born; hence the names of plants, animals, rivers,
mountains, etc., which nearly all the redskins bear.
Sotavento, during the twelve years that had elapsed, had not left his
master. He had continued to serve him with such fidelity and devotion
that the latter, in spite of his indomitable Castilian pride, had
almost come to regard his majordomo more as a friend than a servant,
and to treat him accordingly. The conduct of this man, although still
stamped with a certain mystery, had constantly been loyal, apparently
at least, and under two critical circumstances he had bravely exposed
his life to save his master's.
Still, in spite of the proofs of devotion which could not be disputed,
this man inspired all those with whom chance brought him into contact
(always excepting Don Aníbal) with a repugnance and antipathy which
nothing could overcome; and, singular to say, the better he was known
and the longer, the less people liked him, and the more they tried to
avoid having anything to do with him. Still, his manners were gentle,
polite, even affable; he liked to do services, and eagerly seized
every opportunity to be agreeable, even to persons who must be quite
indifferent to him.
Whence came this general repulsion for this man? No one could have
said: it was instinctive; when people were near him they felt an
emotion like that caused by the sight of a reptile. Don Aníbal alone
shrugged his shoulders with a smile of contempt when any doubts or
fears were expressed in his presence about the character of the man
whom he had made his confidant. Was he wrong or right? The conclusion
will probably show.
The majordomo stepped unnoticed out of the hall after his master, and
leaving the latter to go in search of Count de Melgosa, who had already
reached the patio, and was about giving his servants the necessary
orders for departure, he quietly entered the inner apartments, went
through several rooms, and reached an octagonal parlour of small size,
whose windows looked out on the huerta, which at that moment was filled
with horses and armed men who had formed a temporary bivouac there. On
reaching it the Indian looked searchingly around him, then, going to
the door, bent his body forward, and seemed to be listening.
"They are coming," he said to himself, almost immediately after.
With one bound he reached the other end of the room, opened, with a
key that hung from his neck by a thin steel chain, a door carefully
concealed in the wall, took a final glance of singular meaning at the
door of the room, and then disappeared, closing the panel, which moved
noiselessly in a groove, at the very moment when Don Aníbal entered the
room, accompanied by the count.
"Here," the hacendero said, pointing to a butaca, "we can converse at
our ease, without fear of being disturbed by intruders."
"I assure you that I have nothing to say to you; still, if you desire
to exchange a few words with me while my servants are saddling the
horses, it will afford me great pleasure."
While saying this, the count seated himself.
"Oh, oh!" the hacendero remarked, with a smile, "Is that your tone? I
cannot believe that you really intend to go away so speedily; it cannot
be so, for the honour of my house. My dear count, old friends as we
are must separate with mutual satisfaction, and when all the duties of
hospitality have been strictly fulfilled."
"My dear Don Aníbal, at the present day," the count said with reserve,
"the duties of hospitality have become, I fear, very weak ties, and are
not strong enough to retain anybody."
"Do not believe that," Don Aníbal exclaimed warmly; "friendship has its
undeniable rights, and if fate has cast us into two opposite parties,
we ought only to esteem each other the more for having followed our
convictions."
"Unfortunately, Don Aníbal, but few friendships resist political
hatreds. However great the affection may be we feel for a man, however
powerful the sympathy we may have with him, when a community of
thought no longer exists, when everything separates you, indifference
inevitably succeeds friendship, and, as you know, from indifference to
hatred is only a step."
"Which, I trust, you have not yet taken, my dear count, for our
friendship is one of those which nothing can weaken, as it rests on too
solid a basis--an oath of vengeance which we took together--and which
we have as yet been unable to accomplish, in spite of all our efforts."
The count's brow was contracted by a painful thought.
"Yes," he murmured, "you are right, Don Aníbal; there is a vengeance we
have sworn to take. Oh, whatever may happen, I will keep my oath."
"Perhaps," the hacendero continued, "the hour is nearer at hand than
you suppose."
"Is that the truth, Don Aníbal?" he exclaimed, suddenly starting up.
"Shall we at length reach the object for which we have so long been
striving?"
"I hope so, Señor Conde; as I am more at liberty than you, and better
situated to obtain information, I believe that I am at last on the
track."
"Speak, speak! What do you know, my friend?"
"Speaking today would perhaps be imprudent. I do not wish to leave
anything to chance; give me a few more days, and then--"
"But," the count interrupted him passionately, "the insult I have to
avenge is more serious than yours; my murdered brother, my boy carried
off, perhaps killed, whose blood is incessantly crying out after their
cowardly and barbarous murderers."
"And I have my wife, my well-beloved wife, who was rendered mad by
terror, and my daughter, who escaped by a miracle from the frightful
sting of a snake. Oh, believe me, count, I suffer as much as you, for
all my happiness has been for ever destroyed."
There was a moment of painful silence. The two gentlemen, lying back in
their butacas, with their heads buried in their hands, remained plunged
in gloomy and sorrowful thoughts. At length the hacendero spoke.
"Still," he said, "on reflection, I think that it will be better both
for you and me to come to a thorough understanding about the steps we
mean to take, and arrange so that failure cannot be possible. But the
conversation will be a long one; I have much information to impart to
you, and so, my dear count, whether you like it or not, you must defer
your departure till tomorrow, and consent to pass the night beneath my
roof."
"I am in a very exceptional position here, Don Aníbal. The persons
assembled in the hacienda at this moment have a right to regard me as
an enemy, perhaps a spy. I should not like--"
"That concerns me, my dear count. Thank heaven, the well-known honour
of your character places you above all suspicion; and who knows,
perhaps your stay here, however short it may be, will not prove useless
to the cause you serve."
"What do you mean? Pray explain yourself, my friend, for I do not
understand you."
"You will soon do so; but for the present I shall feel obliged by your
not pressing the point."
"Very good; I will await a more propitious moment to obtain from you
the double explanation you promise me."
At this moment the door opened, and Don Melchior appeared. He bowed.
"Well, Don Melchior, what good wind has brought you here?" Don Aníbal
asked with a smile.
"The Señor Conde's horses are ready, father," he replied; "his people
are only awaiting his pleasure."
"Be good enough, my dear boy," the hacendero remarked, "to tell the
criados to take his Excellency's horses back to the stable, and to
unload the mules. The count does not start tonight, but deigns to spend
it under our humble roof."
"Still--" the count objected.
"You have promised me," Don Aníbal said quickly.
"Well, be it so," said the count, with his eyes fixed on the young man,
who was standing respectfully in the doorway.
At a sign from the hacendero, Melchior bowed, and left the room. The
count remained pensive for some moments, and then turned to his host.
"Have you not your old majordomo?" he asked him.
"Certainly. Why do you ask the question?"
"I fancied that young man had taken his place."
"Oh, no! That young man is not even one of my servants."
"Ah!"
"He is an orphan I have brought up."
"It is strange that I should have never seen him before."
"I presume you never noticed him before now."
"That is possible," the count said, suppressing a sigh, "still, it
seems to me, I know not why, that had I seen him before, his face would
not have passed out of my memory; there is something about it which
struck me. Have you had him long?"
"He was six years old, I believe, when Sotavento brought him to me.
Since that time he has constantly been with me; he is, I think, of
Indian origin, although his features are more marked than those of the
redskins, and his complexion whiter; but that means nothing on the
border, where crossings of breed are so frequent."
"That is true," the count murmured, as he passed his hand over his
forehead, as if to drive away a painful thought; "forgive me, my
friend, I do not know where my head was; the questions I asked you must
have appeared to you most indiscreet."
"Not at all; I am greatly attached to this young man, who deserves
in every respect all that I have done for him. Hence I can only feel
flattered when others beside myself take an interest in him, for it
proves that I was not deceived with respect to him. Now, that it is
arranged you will not start till tomorrow--"
"At sunrise," the count interrupted.
"Very good," the hacendero continued; "permit me to discharge a mission
I have undertaken toward you."
"A mission!" the count said with surprise.
"The word is perhaps very ambitious, but the matter is this--Father
Pelagio wishes you to give him an interview for a few minutes in this
room."
"Did I not see him just now, and did we not have a conversation?"
"That is true; but at the moment he was among too many persons to be
able to have an explanation with your Excellency, as he would have
probably desired."
"I do not know whether my instructions permit me to grant a
confidential interview to the person to whom you allude; still, not to
disoblige you, my dear Don Aníbal, and prove to you how anxious I am
to maintain the public tranquillity, I consent to the interview Father
Pelagio asks, on the condition, however, that you are present."
"Your Excellency anticipates my wish," the priest said as he entered
the room.
"You were listening to us, señor," the count remarked haughtily.
"Not at all, caballero; but, as I opened the door, I involuntary
overheard your last sentence, and I did not think that I committed any
indiscretion in proving to you that I heard it."
"Very good, I am ready to listen to you; but pray be brief."
"I have only a few words to say to you," Father Pelagio replied with a
bow.
"What is their nature?"
"I am about to have the honour of explaining. We regret, as much as
you do, caballero, the continued wretchedness which has weighed on our
unhappy country for so many years; far from wishing to recommence the
war, we desire, on the contrary, to obtain a durable peace, if it be
possible; but, in order to gain this result, which is the object we
desire, we must have the means of transmitting to his Excellency the
Viceroy our respectful entreaties."
"Respectful?" the count interrupted ironically.
The priest bowed, and continued without seeming to notice the accent in
which this word was uttered--
"We have, therefore, resolved on sending to the Viceroy one of our
friends intrusted with a humble petition, if you will consent,
Señor Conde, to pledge your honour that this petition shall reach
his Excellency, and that whatever the Viceroy's answer may be, our
ambassador will have nothing to fear, and be at liberty to go whither
he pleases, without being troubled, so soon as his mission is ended."
The count reflected for a moment.
"Listen," he said; "I know not whether rebels have the right to send
ambassadors to the chiefs of the government they are combating. Still,
as I sincerely desire peace, and as whatever may be the result of the
contest, Spanish blood will flow on both sides, and as I wish, as far
as depends on myself, to avoid a painful conflict, I pledge my honour,
not to lead your envoy to his Excellency the Viceroy, as that is
impossible, but to present him to the general commanding the province,
who, for my sake, will treat him respectfully, and who, if your
petition really contains quiet and respectful demands, will himself
place it before his Excellency the Viceroy; such is the only thing I
can undertake. If that suits you, very good; but it is impossible for
me to do more."
"Señor Conde, I expected no less from you, although what you offer does
not quite come up to our expectations. Still, we eagerly accept your
offer, as we desire to convince you of the frankness and loyalty of our
intentions. Tomorrow our envoy will follow you."
"That is settled, señor."
Father Pelagio bowed respectfully to the count, and withdrew. When Don
Aníbal found himself alone again with his friend, he begged him to
follow him to the room which had been prepared for him, and both went
out. The secret door gently opened, and Sotavento appeared, advancing
cautiously, and looking anxiously around him. When he was certain that
no one could surprise him, his eye flashed with a sinister gleam, and
making a menacing gesture, he said in a hollow voice--
"We shall see!"