"You all know, my children, of my attachment to the family of Mediana.
You can judge, then, of the grief which this news has given me--news the
more incomprehensible, since one neither knows by whom, or for what
reason such a crime should be committed. Alas, my children! I lose a
powerful protector in the Countess de Mediana; and in me the heart of
the old and faithful servant is pierced with anguish, while as a man of
business I am equally a sufferer. Yes, my children! In the deceitful
security, which I felt no later than yesterday, I was up to the chateau,
and had an important interview with the Countess in regard to my rents."
"To ask time for their payment," Cagatinta would have added, for the
clerk was perfectly acquainted with the alcalde's affairs. But Don
Ramon did not allow him an opportunity of committing this enormous
indiscretion, which would forever have deprived him of the promised
breeches.
"Patience, worthy Cagatinta!" he exclaimed hastily, so as to prevent the
other from speaking, "constrain this thirst for justice that consumes
you!--Yes, my children!" he continued, turning to his auditory, "in
consequence of this feeling of security, which I have now cause to
regret, I placed in the hands of the unfortunate Countess,"--here the
voice of Don Ramon quivered--"a sum equivalent to ten years of my rents
_in advance_."
At this unexpected declaration, Cagatinta bounded from his chair as if
stung by a wasp; and the blood ran cold in his veins when he perceived
the grand blunder he had been so near committing.
"You will understand, then, my children, the terrible situation in which
this disappearance of the Countess has placed me, when I tell you that I
_took no receipt from the lady_, but this very morning was to have gone
up for it."
This revelation produced a profound sensation among the auditory; and
though perhaps not one of them really believed the story, no one dared
to give utterance to his incredulity.
"Fortunately," continued the alcalde, "the word of persons worthy of
credit may yet repair the mistake I have committed--fortunately there
were witnesses of the payment."
Here Cagatinta--who like water that had been a long time dammed up and
had now found vent--stretched out both his arms, and in a loud voice
cried out:
"I can swear to it!"
"He can swear to it," said the alcalde.
"He can swear to it," mechanically repeated one or two of the
bystanders.
"Yes, my friends!" solemnly added Cagatinta. "I swear to it now, and
should have mentioned the matter sooner, but I was prevented by a little
uncertainty. I had an idea that it was _fifteen_ years of rent, instead
of _ten_, that I saw the alcalde hand over to the unfortunate Dona
Luisa."
"No, my worthy friend," interrupted the alcalde in a tone of moderation,
likely to produce an effect upon his auditory. "It was only ten years
of rent, which your valuable testimony will hinder me from losing."
"Yes, senor alcalde," replied the wily scribe, determined at all hazards
to deserve the liver-coloured breeches, "I know it was ten years in
advance, but there were also the two years of back rent which you paid--
two years of arrears and ten in advance--twelve years in all. _Por
Dios_! a large sum it would be to have lost!"
And with this reflection Cagatinta sat down again, fancying, no doubt,
that he had fairly won the breeches.
We shall not detail what further passed during the scene in the
alcalde's chamber of audience--where justice was practised as in the
times of Gil Blas--long before and long after Gil Blas--for it is not
very different in a Spanish law court at the hour in which we are
writing.
Enough to say that the scene concluded, most of the dramatis personae,
with the alcalde at their head, proceeded to the chateau, to inspect the
chamber, and if possible find out some clue to the mysterious
disappearance of the Countess.