Scarce necessary to say that Luisa Valverde and Ysabel Almonte were at
length really alarmed--fully alive to a sense of their danger.
It was no more a question of the safety of their lovers, but their own.
And the prospect was dark, indeed. Santander had said nothing of the
reason for arresting them; nor had they cared to inquire. They divined
it; no longer doubting that it was owing to revelations made by the
hunchback.
Sure now that this diminutive wretch not only himself knew their secret,
but had made it known in higher quarters, there seemed no hope for them;
instead, ruin staring them in the face. The indignity to their persons
they were already experiencing would be followed by social disgrace, and
confiscation of property.
"Oh, Ysabelita! what will they do to us?" was the Dona Luisa's anxious
interrogatory, soon as they had got well inside their room. "Do you
think they'll put us in a prison?"
"Possibly they will. I wish there was nothing worse awaiting us."
"Worse! Do you mean they'd inflict punishment on us--that is, corporal
punishment? Surely they daren't?"
"Daren't! Santa Anna dare anything--at least, neither shame nor mercy
will restrain him. No more this other man, his minion, whom you know
better than I. But it isn't punishment of that kind I'm thinking of."
"What then, Ysabel? The loss of our property? It'll be all taken from
us, I suppose."
"In all likelihood it will," rejoined the Condesa, with as much
unconcern as though her estates, value far more than a million, were not
worth a thought.
"Oh! my father! This new misfortune, and all owing to me. 'Twill kill
him!"
"No, no, Luisita! Don't fear that. He will survive it, if aught
survives of our country's liberty. And it will, all of it, be restored
again. 'Tis something else I was thinking of."
Again the other asked "What?" her countenance showing increased anxiety.
"What we as women have more to fear than aught else. From the loss of
lands, houses, riches of any sort, one may recover--from the loss of
that, never!"
Enigmatic as were the words, Luisa Valverde needed no explanation of
them, nor pressed for it. She comprehended all now, and signified her
apprehension by exclaiming, with a shudder, "_Virgen Santissima_!"
"The prison they will take us to," pursued the Countess, "is a place--
that in the Plaza Grande. We shall be immured there, and at the mercy
of that man, that monster! O God!--O Mother of God, protect me!"
At which she dropped down upon a couch despairingly, with face buried in
her hands.
It was a rare thing for the Condesa Almonte to be so moved--rather, to
show despondence--and her friend was affected accordingly. For there
was another man at whose mercy she herself would be--one like a monster,
and as she well knew equally unmerciful--he who at that moment was under
the same roof with them--in her father's house, for the time its master.
"But, Ysabel," she said, hoping against hope, "surely they will not dare
to--"
She left the word unspoken, knowing it was not needed to make her
meaning understood.
"Not dare!" echoed the Countess, recovering nerve and again rising to
her feet. "As I've said, he'll dare anything--will Don Antonio Lopez De
Santa Anna. Besides, what has _he_ to fear? Nothing. He can show good
cause for our imprisonment, else he would never have had us arrested.
Enough to satisfy any clamour of the people. And how would any one ever
know of what might be done to us inside the Palacio? Ah, _Luisita
querida_, if its walls could speak they might tell tales sad enough to
make angels weep. We wouldn't be the first who have been subjected to
insult--ay, infamy--by _El excellentissimo. Valga me Dios_!" she cried
out in conclusion, stamping her foot on the floor, while the flash of
her eyes told of some fixed determination. "If it be so, that Palace
prison will have another secret to keep, or a tale to tell, sad and
tragic as any that has preceded. I, Ysabel Almonte, shall die in it
rather than come out dishonoured."
"I, too!" echoed Luisa Valverde, if in less excited manner, inspired by
a like heroic resolve.
While his fair prisoners were thus exchanging thought and speech,
Santander, in the _sala grande_ outside, was doing his best to pass the
time pleasantly. An effort it was costing him, however, and one far
from successful. His last lingering hope of being beloved by Luisa
Valverde was gone--completely destroyed by what had late come to his
knowledge--and henceforth his love for her could only be as that of
Tarquin for Lucretia. Nor would he have any Collatinus to fear--no
rival, martial or otherwise--since his master, Santa Anna, had long
since given up his designs on Don Ignacio's daughter, exclusively
bending himself to his scheme of conquest--now revenge--over the
Condesa. But though relieved in this regard, and likely to have his own
way, Carlos Santander was anything but a happy man after making that
arrest; instead, almost as miserable as either of those he had arrested.
Still keeping up a pretence of gallantry, he could not command their
company in the drawing-room where he had installed himself; nor, under
the circumstances, would it have been desirable. He was not alone,
however; Major Ramirez and the other officers of his escort being there
with him; and, as in like cases, they were enjoying themselves. However
considerate for the feelings of the ladies, they made free enough with
the house itself, its domestics, larder, and _cocina_, and, above all,
the cellar. Its binns were inquired into, the best wine ordered to be
brought from them, as though they who gave the order were the guests of
an hotel and Don Ignacio's drawing-room a drinking saloon.
Outside in the courtyard, and further off by the coach-house, similar
scenes were transpiring. Never had that quiet _casa de campo_ known so
much noise. For the soldiers had got among them--it was the house of a
_rebel_, and therefore devoted to ruin.