Luisa Valverde and Ysabel Almonte were fast friends--so fondly intimate
that scarcely a day passed without their seeing one another and
exchanging confidences. They lived in the same street; the Condesa
having a house of her own, though nominally owned by her grand-aunt and
guardian. For, besides being beautiful and possessed of a title--one of
the few still found in Mexico, relics of the old _regime_--Ysabel
Almonte was immensely rich; had houses in the city, _haciendas_ in the
country, property everywhere. She had a will of her own as well, and
spent her wealth according to her inclinations, which were all on the
side of generosity, even to caprice. By nature a lighthearted, joyous
creature, gay and merry, as one of the bright birds of her country, it
was a rare thing to see sadness upon her face. And yet Luisa Valverde,
looking down from the mirador, saw that now. There was a troubled
expression upon it, excitement in her eyes, attitude, and gestures,
while her bosom rose and fell in quick pulsations. True, she had run up
the _escalera_--a stair of four flights--without pause or rest; and that
might account for her laboured breathing. But not for the flush on her
cheek, and the sparkle in her eyes. These came from a different cause,
though the same one which had carried her up the long stairway without
pausing to take breath.
She had not enough now left to declare it; but stood panting and
speechless.
"_Madre de Dios_!" exclaimed her friend in an accent of alarm. "What is
it, Ysabel?"
"_Madre de Dios_! I say too," gasped the Condesa. "Oh, Luisita! what
do you think?"
"What?"
"They've taken him--they have him in prison!"
"He lives then--still lives! Blessed be the Virgin!"
Saying which Luisa Valverde crossed her arms over her breast, and with
eyes raised devotionally towards heaven, seemed to offer up a mute, but
fervent thanksgiving.
"Still lives!" echoed the Condesa, with a look of mingled surprise and
perplexity.
"Of course he does; surely you did not think he was dead!"
"Indeed I knew not what to think--so long since I saw or heard of him.
Oh, I'm so glad he's here, even though in a prison; for while there's
life there's hope."
By this the Condesa had recovered breath, though not composure of
countenance. Its expression alone was changed from the look of trouble
to one of blank astonishment. What could her friend mean? Why glad of
his being in a prison? For all the while she was thinking of a _him_.
"Hope!" she ejaculated again as an echo, then remaining silent, and
looking dazed-like.
"Yes, Ysabel; I had almost despaired of him. But are you sure they have
him here in prison? I was in fear that he had been killed in battle, or
died upon the march, somewhere in those great prairies of Texas--"
"_Carramba_!" interrupted the young Countess, who, free of speech, was
accustomed to interlarding it with her country forms of exclamation.
"What's all this about prairies and Texas? So far as I know, Ruperto
was never there in his life."
"Ruperto!" echoed the other, the joy which had so suddenly lit up her
features as suddenly returning to shadow. "I thought you were speaking
of Florencio."
They understood each other now. Long since had their love secrets been
mutually confessed; and Luisa Valverde needed no telling who Ruperto
was. Independent of what she had lately learned from the Condesa, she
knew him to be a gentleman of good family, a soldier of some reputation;
but who--as once her own father--had the misfortune to belong to the
party now out of power; many of them in exile, or retired upon their
estates in the country--for the time taking no part in politics. As for
himself, he had not been lately seen in the city of Mexico, though it
was said he was still in the country; as rumour had it, hiding away
somewhere among the mountains. And rumour went further, even to the
defiling of his fair name. There were reports of his having become a
robber, and that, under another name, he was now chief of a band of
_salteadores_, whose deeds were oft heard of on the Acapulco Road, where
this crosses the mountains near that place of many murders--the Cruzdel
Marques.
Nothing of this sinister tale, however, had reached the ears of Don
Ignacio's daughter. Nor till that day--indeed that very hour--had she,
more interested in him, heard aught of it. Hence much of the wild
excitement under which she was labouring.
"Forgive me, Ysabel!" said her friend, opening her arms, and receiving
the Countess in sympathetic embrace; "forgive me for the mistake I have
made."
"Nay, 'tis I who should ask forgiveness," returned the other, seeing the
misapprehension her words had caused, with their distressing effect. "I
ought to have spoken plainer. But you know how much my thoughts have
been dwelling on dear Ruperto."
She did know, or should, judging by herself, and how hers had been
dwelling on dear Florencio.
"But, Ysabel: you say they made him a prisoner! Who has done that, and
why?"
"The soldiers of the State. As to why, you can easily guess. Because
he belongs to the party of Liberals. That's why, and nothing else. But
they don't say so. I've something more to tell you. Would you believe
it, Luisita, that they accuse him of being a _salteador_?"
"I can believe him accused of it--some of those in power now are wicked
enough for anything--but not guilty. You remember we were acquainted
with Don Ruperto, before that sad time when we were compelled to leave
the country. I should say he would be the last man to stain his
character by becoming a robber."
"The very last man! Robber indeed! My noble Ruperto the purest of
patriots, purer than any in this degenerate land. _Ay-de-mi_!"
"Where did they take him, and when?"
"Somewhere near San Augustin, and I think, several days ago, though I've
only just heard of it."
"Strange that. As you know, I've been staying at San Augustin for the
last week or more; and there was no word of such a thing there."
"Not likely there would be; it was all done quietly. Don Ruperto has
been living out that way up in the mountains, hiding, if you choose to
call it. I know where, but no matter. Too brave to be cautious he had
come down to San Augustin. Some one betrayed him, and going back he was
waylaid by the soldiers, surrounded, and made prisoner. There must have
been a whole host of them, else they'd never have taken him so easily.
I'm sure they wouldn't and couldn't."
"And where is he now, Ysabel?"
"In prison, as I've told you."
"But what prison?"
"That's just what I'm longing to know. All I've ye heard is that he's
in a prison under the accusation of being a highwayman. _Santissima_!"
she added, angrily stamping her tiny foot on the tesselated flags.
"They who accuse him shall rue it. He shall be revenged on them. I'll
see justice done him myself. Ah! that will I, though it costs me all
I'm worth. Only to think--Ruperto a robber! My Ruperto! _Valga me
Dios_!"
By this, the two had mounted up into the mirador--the Senorita Valverde
having come down to receive her visitor. And there, the first flurry of
excitement over, they talked more tranquilly, or at all events, more
intelligibly of the affairs mutually affecting them. In those there was
much similarity, indeed, in many respects a parallelism. Yet the
feelings with which they regarded them were diametrically opposite. One
knew that her lover was in prison, and grieved at it; the other hoped
hers might be the same, and would have been glad of it!
A strange dissimilitude of which the reader has the key.
Beyond what she had already said, the Condesa had little more to
communicate, and in her turn became the questioner.
"I can understand now, _amiga mia_, why you spoke of Don Florencio. The
Tejano prisoners have arrived, and you are thinking he's amongst them?
That's so, is it not?"
"Not thinking, but hoping it, Ysabel."
"Have you taken any steps to ascertain?"
"I have."
"In what way?"
"I've sent a messenger to Tacubaya, where I'm told they've been taken."
"Not all. Some of them have been sent elsewhere. One party, I believe,
is shut up in the Acordada."
"What! in that fearful place? among those horrid wretches--the worst
criminals we have! The Tejans are soldiers--prisoners of war. Surely
they do not deserve such treatment?"
"Deserve it or not, some of them are receiving it. That grand
gentleman, Colonel Carlos Santander--your friend by the way--told me
so."
The mention of Santander's name, but more a connection with the subject
spoken of, produced a visible effect on Luisa Valverde. Her cheek
seemed to pale and suddenly flashed red again. Well she remembered, and
vividly recalled, the old enmity between him and Don Florencio. Too
well, and a circumstance of most sinister recollection as matters stood
now. She had thought of it before; was thinking of it all the time, and
therefore the words of the Condesa started no new train of reflection.
They but intensified the fear she had already felt, for a time holding
her speechless.
Not noticing this, and without waiting a rejoinder, the other ran on,
still interrogating:
"Whom have you trusted with this delicate mission, may I ask?"
"Only Jose?"
"Well; Jose, from what I've seen of him, is worthy of the trust. That
is so far as honesty is concerned, and possibly cleverness. But, _amiga
mia_, he's only a humble servitor, and out there in Tacubaya, among the
garrison soldiers, or if it be in any of the prisons, he may experience
a little difficulty in obtaining the information you seek. Did you give
him any money to make matters easy?"
"He has my purse with him, with permission to use it as he may see
best."
"Ah! then you may safely expect his bringing back a good account, or at
all events one that will settle the question you wish to have settled.
Your purse should be a key to Don Florencio's prison--if he be inside
one anywhere in Mexico."
"Oh! I hope he is."
"Wishing your _amanti_ in a prison! That would sound strange enough, if
one didn't understand it."
"I'd give anything to know him there--all I have to be assured he still
lives."
"Likely enough you'll soon hear. When do you expect your messenger to
be back?"
"At any moment. He's been gone many hours ago. I was watching for him
when you came up--yonder on the Tacubaya Road. I see nothing of him
yet, but he may have passed while we've been talking."
"_Muy amiga mia_! How much our doings this day have been alike. I,
too, have despatched a messenger to find out all about Ruperto, and am
now awaiting his return. I ran across to tell you of it. And now that
we're together let us stay till we know the worst or the best. God help
us both; for, to make use of the phrase I've heard among _marineros_,
we're `both in the same boat.' What is this?" she added, stooping, and
taking up the gilded card which had been all the while lying upon the
floor. "Oh, indeed! Invitation to an airing in one of the State
carriages--with such a pretty compliment appended! How free El
Excellentissimo is with his flattery. For myself I detest both him and
it. You'll go, won't you?"
"I don't wish it."
"No matter about wishing; I want you. And so will your father, I'm
sure."
"But why do you want me?"
"Why, so that you may take me with you."
"I would rather wait till I hear what father says."
"That's all I ask, _amiga_. I shall be contented with his dictum, now
feeling sure--"
She was interrupted by the pattering of feet upon the stone stairway;
two pairs of them, which told that two individuals were ascending. The
heavy tread proclaimed them to be men. Presently their faces showed
over the baluster rail, and another step brought them upon the roof.
Both ladies regarding them with looks of eager inquiry, glided down out
of the mirador to meet them.
For they were the two messengers that had been despatched separately,
though on errands so very similar.
Returning, they had met by the front door, and entered the house
together. Each having had orders to deliver his report, and without
delay, was now acting in obedience to them.
Two and two they stood upon the azotea,--the men, hat in hand, stood in
front of their respective mistresses; not so far apart, but that each
mistress might have heard what the servant of the other said; for on
their part there was no wish or reason for concealment.
"Senorita," reported Jose, "the gentleman you sent me to inquire about
is not in Tacubaya."
Almost a cry came from Luisa Valverde's lips, as with paled cheek, she
said,--"You've not heard of him, then?" But the colour quickly returned
at the answer,--"I have, Senorita; more, I have seen him."
"Seen Don Florencio! Where? Speak, quick, Jose!"
"In the Acordada!"
"In the Acordada!" in still another voice--that of the Condesa speaking
in a similar tone, as though it were an echo; for she, too, had just
been told that her lover was in the same gaol.
"I saw him in a cell, my lady," continued the Countess's man, now taking
precedence. "They had him coupled to another prisoner--a Tejano."
"He was in one of the cells, Senorita," spoke Jose, also continuing his
report, "chained to a robber."