he speaks English better than I do," said Alphonse; "and as for you, you
must shelter yourself under English _morgue_ and reserve."
"Confound him!" muttered De Lucenay: "jealousy is the very deuce for
sharpening the wits. But no matter, courage!"--And so saying, the
friends sauntered back into the circle.
They had not been long there when the Conde came up and introduced his
friend Don Alvar, who, as they had expected, addressed them in very good
English; to which Alphonse replied with a fluency which would have
delighted his friend less, had he been able to appreciate the mistakes
which embellished almost every sentence. To him Don Alvar often turned;
but as every attempt to engage him in the conversation was met by a
resolute monosyllable, he at last confined himself to Alphonse, much to
De Lucenay's relief. His manners, however, were cautious and agreeable;
and as, after a quarter of an hour, he concluded by hoping that erelong
they should be better acquainted, and left them apparently quite
unsuspicious, the young men persuaded themselves that they had outwitted
their malicious inquisitor. Their gay spirits thus relieved from the
cloud that had momentarily over-shadowed them, the remainder of the
evening was to them one of unmingled enjoyment. In the society of the
beautiful DoA+-a Inez, and her sparkling friend, hours flew by like
minutes; and when the last lingering groups dispersed, and the reluctant
Juanita rose to depart, the friends could not be convinced of the
lateness of the hour.
"Well, Alphonse! so you are fairly caught at last!" said De Lucenay, as,
after dismissing Pedro half-an-hour later, he stretched himself full
length on the luxurious divan of the immense bedroom, which, for the
sake of companionship, they had determined on sharing between them.
"After all, it is too absurd that you, who have withstood all the
artillery of Paris, and escaped all the cross-fire of the two Castiles,
should come and be hooked at last in this remote corner of the earth, by
the inexperienced black eyes of an innocent of sixteen."
"Good heavens! do cease that stupid style of _persiflage_. I am in no
humour for jesting."
"Well, defend me from the love that makes people cross! My _bonnes
fortunes_ always put me in a good humour."
"Will you never learn to be serious? That absurd manner of talking is
very ill-timed."
Ernest was on the point of retorting very angrily, when the sound of a
guitar struck upon their ears; and, with one accord, the friends stole
silently and noiselessly to the balcony--but not before Ernest, with the
tact of experience, had hidden the light behind the marble pillars of
the alcove. By this manA"uvre, themselves in shade, they could,
unperceived, observe all that passed in the apartment opposite to them,
from which the sound proceeded; for the windows were thrown wide open,
and an antique bronze lamp, suspended from the ceiling, diffused
sufficient light over the whole extent of the room to enable them to
distinguish almost every thing within its precincts. The profusion of
flowers, trifles, and musical instruments, that were dispersed around in
graceful confusion, would alone have betrayed a woman's sanctum
sanctorum, even had not the presiding genius of the shrine been the
first and most prominent object that met their eyes. DoA+-a Inez--for it
was she--had drawn her seat to the verge of the balcony; and, her guitar
resting on her knee, she hurried over a brilliant prelude with a
masterly hand; and in a pure, rich voice, but evidently tremulous with
emotion, sang a little plaintive seguidilla with exquisite taste and
feeling. The two young men listened in hushed and breathless attention;
but the song was short as it was sweet--in a moment it had ceased; and
the young girl, stepping out upon the balcony, leaned over the
balustrade, and looked anxiously around, as if her brilliant eyes sought
to penetrate the very depths of night.
"Well, Alphonse," said De Lucenay, "let me congratulate you. This
serenade is for you; but I presume you will no longer deny the
coquettery of your _innamorata_?"
"Hush, hush!" exclaimed his friend hastily, as DoA+-a Inez resumed her
seat: "be sure there is some better motive for it."
The music now recommenced, but it was the same air again.
"This is strange!" muttered Ernest: "her _repertoire_ seems limited.
Does she know nothing else, I wonder?"
"Silence!" replied the other. "Did you mark the words?" exclaimed
Alphonse hurriedly, as the music concluded. "_Descuidado caballero,
este lecho es vuestra tumba_, &c."
"No, indeed; I was much better employed in watching the fair syren
herself. _Foi de dragon!_ she is charming. I have half a mind to dispute
her with you."
"She has something to communicate!" exclaimed Alphonse, in an agitated
voice; "we are in danger." And, running rapidly into the room, he
replaced the light on the table, so that they were full in view.
His conjecture was right; for no sooner did the light discover to her
those whom she was looking for, than, uttering a fervent "_gracias a
Dios!_" she clasped her hands together, and rushed into the apartment,
from which she almost instantaneously returned with a small envelope,
which she flung with such precision that it fell almost in the centre of
the room, with a sharp metallic sound. It was the work of an instant to
tear open the packet, take out the key which it contained, and decypher
the following words:--
"SeA+-ores,--Strange, and I trust unjust suspicions have arisen concerning
you. It is whispered that you are not what you appear: that secret and
traitorous designs have led you amongst us. To-morrow's dawn will bring
the proof to light. But, should you have any thing to fear, fly
instantly--not a moment must be lost. Descend by the small staircase;
the inclosed is a _passe-partout_ to open the gate, outside which Pedro
will wait you with your horses, and guide you on your way, till you no
longer require him. Alas! I betray my beloved parent's confidence, to
save you from a certain and ignominious death. Be generous, then, and
bury all that you have seen and heard within these walls in oblivion, or
eternal remorse and misery must be mine.--INEZ."
"Generous, noble-minded girl!" enthusiastically exclaimed Alphonse, as
he paced the room with agitated steps. "Scarcely do I regret this hour
of peril, since it has taught me to know thee!"
"For heaven's sake, Alphonse, no heroics now!" cried De Lucenay, who,
not being in love, estimated the value of time much more rationally than
his friend. "Scribble off an answer--explain that we are not
spies--while I prepare for our departure. Be quick!--five minutes are
enough for me."
Alphonse followed his friend's advice, and, in an incredibly short space
of time, penned off a tolerably long epistle, explaining the boyish
frolic into which they had been led by getting possession of the
dispatches of an imprisoned English aide-de-camp, and the reports of her
beauty; filled up with protestations of eternal gratitude and
remembrance, and renewing all the vows and declarations of the
evening--the precipitancy of which he excused by the unfortunate
circumstances under which he was placed, and the impossibility of
bidding her adieu, without convincing her of the sentiments which filled
his heart then and for ever. The letter concluded by intreating her
carefully to preserve the signet-ring which it contained; and that
should she at any future time be in any danger or distress, she had only
to present or send it, and there was nothing, within their power,
himself or his friends would not do for her. Having signed their real
names and titles, and dispatched the _billet-doux_ in the same manner
as its predecessor, the young men waited till they had the satisfaction
of seeing DoA+-a Inez open it; and then, waving their handkerchiefs in
sign of adieu, Alphonse, with a swelling heart, followed his friend down
stairs. All happened as the young girl had promised, and in a few
moments they were in the open air and in freedom.
"SeA+-ores," said Pedro, as they mounted their horses, "the SeA+-orita
thinks you had better not return to your quarters, for Don Alvar is such
a devil when his jealous blood is up, that he might pursue you with a
troop of assassins, and murder you on the road. She desired me to
conduct you to S----, whence you may easily take the cross-roads in any
direction you please."
"The SeA+-orita is a pearl of prudence and discretion: do whatever she
desired you," said Alphonse.
Pedro made no answer; but seemingly as much impressed with the necessity
of speed as the young men themselves, put the spurs to his horse; and in
a moment they were crossing the country at a speed which bid fair to
distance any pursuers who were not gifted with wings as well as feet;
nor did they slacken rein till the dawn of day showed them, to their
great joy, that they were beyond the reach of pursuit, and in a part of
the country with which they were sufficiently well acquainted to enable
them to dispense with the services of Pedro--a discovery which they lost
no time in taking advantage of, by dismissing the thenceforth
inconvenient guide, with such substantial marks of their gratitude as
more than compensated him for the loss of his night's rest. A few more
hours saw them safely returned to the French camp, without having
suffered any greater penalty for the indulgence of their curiosity, than
a night's hard riding, to the no small discomfiture of the friendly
circle of _frA"res d'armes_, whose prophecies of evil on the subject had
been, if not loud, deep and numerous.
* * * * *
It was on a somewhat chilly evening, towards the beginning of winter,
that Alphonse was writing a letter in his tent; while De Lucenay, who,
when there were no ladies in question, could never be very long absent
from his Pylades, was pacing up and down, savouring the ineffable
delights of a long _chibouque_, when the orderly suddenly entered, and
laid a letter on the table, saying that the bearer waited the answer.
Desiring him to attend his orders outside, Alphonse broke open the
envelope.
"What the devil have you got there, Alphonse?" exclaimed De Lucenay,
stopping in the midst of his perambulations, as he perceived the
agitated countenance and tremulous eagerness with which his friend
perused the contents of the letter. "It must be a powerful stimulant
indeed, which can make you look so much more like yourself than you have
done for these last five months. You have not been so much excited since
that mysterious blank letter you received, with its twin sprigs of
forget-me-not and myrtle. I began to fear I should have that unlucky
expedition of ours on my conscience for the rest of my days. You have
never been the same being since."
"There--judge for yourself!" exclaimed Alphonse, flinging him the note
after he had hurriedly pressed it to his lips, and rushed out of the
tent.
It was with scarcely less surprise and emotion that De Lucenay glanced
over the following lines:--
"If honour and gratitude have any claims upon your hearts, now is the
moment to redeem the pledge they gave. Danger and misfortune have fallen
upon us, and I claim the promise that, unasked, you made; the holy
Virgin grant that it may be as fresh in your memory as it is in mine. I
await your answer.--INEZ." The signet was inclosed. Scarcely had De
Lucenay read its contents when his friend re-entered, leading in a
trembling sister of charity, beneath whose projecting hood Ernest had no
difficulty in recognising the beautiful features of DoA+-a Inez di
Miranda.
"This is indeed an unlooked-for happiness!" passionately exclaimed
Alphonse, while he placed the agitated and almost fainting girl on a
seat. "Since that memorable night of mingled joy and despair, I thought
not that such rapture awaited me again on earth."
"Oh, talk not of joy, of happiness!" imploringly exclaimed the young
girl. "I have come to you on a mission of life or death. My father--my
dear, my beloved father--is a prisoner, and condemned to be shot. Oh,
save him! save him!" she cried wildly, falling on her knees.--"If you
have hearts, if you are human--save him! and God will reward you for it;
and I shall live but to bless your names every hour of my existence."
Exhausted by her emotion, she would have fallen on the ground, had not
Alphonse caught her and raised her in his arms.
"Calm yourself, calm yourself, sweet child!" he whispered soothingly:
"our lives, our blood is at your service; there is nothing on earth
which my friend and I would not do for you."
A declaration which De Lucenay confirmed with an energetic oath.
Somewhat tranquillized by this assurance, she at last recovered
sufficiently to explain that her father was at the head of a guerilla
band which had been captured, having fallen into an ambuscade, where
they left more than half their number dead on the field. Some peasants
had brought the news to the chateau, with the additional information
that they were all to be shot within two days.
"In my despair," continued the young girl, "I thought of you; and
ordering the fleetest horses in the stables to be saddled, set off with
two servants, determined to throw myself on your pity; and if that
should fail me, to fling myself on the mercy of heaven, and lastly to
die with him, if I could not rescue him. But you will save him! will you
not?" she sobbed with clasped hands--and a look so beseeching, so
sorrowful, that the tears rushed involuntarily into their eyes.
"Save him! oh yes, at all costs, at all hazards! were it at the risk of
our heads! But where is he? where was he taken? where conveyed to?"
"They were taken to the quarters of the general-in-chief in command, and
it was he himself who signed their condemnation."
"My father!" said De Lucenay, in a tone of surprise.
"Ernest!" exclaimed his friend, "they must be those prisoners who were
brought in this morning while we were out foraging."
"No doubt, no doubt, you are right," replied De Lucenay, his countenance
lighting up with pleasure. "Oh, then, all is well! I will go instantly
to my father; tell him we owe our lives to you--and that will be quite
sufficient. Have no fear--he is saved!"
"He is saved! He is saved!" shrieked DoA+-a Inez. "Oh, may heaven bless
you for those words!" and with a sigh--a gasp--she fell senseless on the
ground.
"Poor girl!" said De Lucenay, pityingly, "she has suffered indeed.
Alphonse, I leave you to resuscitate her, while I hurry off to the
General. There is not a moment to be lost. As soon as the grand affair
is settled, I will make my father send for her. She will be better taken
care of there; and besides, you know, it would not be _convenable_ for
her to remain here; and we must be generous as well as honourable."
"Oh, certainly--certainly! It is well you think for me; for I am so
confused that I remember nothing," exclaimed Alphonse, as De Lucenay
hurried away.
It was not quite so easy a task, however, as he had imagined, to bring
the young girl to life again. The terror and distress she had undergone
had done their worst; and the necessity for exertion past, the
overstrung nerves gave way beneath the unwonted tension. One
fainting-fit succeeded to another; till at last Alphonse began to be
seriously alarmed. Fortunately, however, joy does not kill; and after a
short while, DoA+-a Inez was sufficiently recovered to listen with a
little more attention to the protestations, vows, and oaths, which, for
the last half hour, the young Frenchman had been very uselessly wasting
on her insensible ears.
"And so, then, you did remember me, it seems!" said DoA+-a Inez, after a
moment's silence--while she rested her head on one hand, and abandoned
the other to the passionate kisses of her lover.
"Remember you! What a word! When I can cease to remember that the sun
shines, that I exist--then, perhaps, I may forget you; but not till
then. Not an hour of my life, but I thought of you; at night I dreamed
of you, in the day I dreamed of you; amidst the confusion of the
bivouac, in the excitement of battle, in the thunder of the artillery,
amidst the dead and the dying, your image rose before me. I had but one
thought;--should I fall--how to convey to you the knowledge that I had
died loving you,--that that sprig of forget-me-not, that lock of dark
hair, so often bedewed by my kisses, had rested on my heart to the last
moment that it beat!" And Alphonse drew out a medallion.
DoA+-a Inez snatched it out of his hand, and covered it with kisses.
"Blessed be the holy Virgin! I have not prayed to her in vain. I, too,
have thought of you, Alphonse; I, too, have dreamed of you by day, and
lain awake by night to dream of you again. How have I supplicated all
the saints in heaven to preserve you, to watch over you! For I, too,
love you, Alphonse; deeply--passionately--devotedly--as a Spaniard
loves--once, and for ever!"
"_Mes amis_, I regret to part you," said De Lucenay, who re-entered the
tent a few moments after; "but the Conde is pardoned--all is right, and
you will meet to-morrow; so let that console you!"
"Oh, you were destined to be my good angels!" cried DoA+-a Inez
enthusiastically, as she drew the white hood over her head, and left the
tent with the two friends.
* * * * *
Less enviable were the Conde's feelings, when at noon, on the following
morning, an order from the General summoned him to his tent, to receive,
as he supposed, sentence of death. Great, therefore, was his surprise,
when he was ushered into the presence of three officers, in two of whom
he instantly recognised his former suspicious guests; while the third, a
tall dignified-looking man, advanced towards him, and in the most
courteous manner announced to him his free pardon.
As the Conde poured forth his thanks, the General interrupted him by
saying, that however happy he was at having in his power to remit his
sentence, it was not to him that the merit was due.
"To whom, then?" exclaimed the Conde in a tone of surprise.
"To one most near and dear to you," replied the General.
"Who? who?"
"You shall see." And the General made a sign to Ernest, who slipped out
of the room, and in a few moments returned leading in DoA+-a Inez.
"And it is to thee, then, my own Inesilla, my darling, my beloved
child," passionately cried the Conde as she rushed into his arms, and
hid her face upon his breast, "that I owe my life!" To describe the joy,
the intense and tumultuous delight of that moment, were beyond the power
of words. Even the stern, inflexible commander turned to hide an emotion
he would have blushed to betray.
After waiting till the first ebullition of their joy had subsided,
General de Lucenay walked up to the Conde, and shaking him cordially by
the hand, congratulated him on possessing a daughter whose courage and
filial devotion were even more worthy of admiration, more rare, than her
far-famed beauty; "and which," he added, "even I, who have been in all
countries, have never seen surpassed."
"Though not my own child, she has indeed been a blessing and a treasure
to me," said the Conde; "every year of her life has she repaid to me, a
thousand-fold, the love and affection which I have lavished on her; and
now"----
"Not your child!" exclaimed De Lucenay and Alphonse in a breath.
"No, not my child," replied the Conde. "The story is a long one, but
with my generous preservers I can have no secrets. Just seventeen years
ago, I was returning from a visit, by the banks of the Guadiana, with
only two attendants, when I heard a faint cry from amongst the rushes on
the water's edge; dismounting from our horses, we forced our way through
the briars to the spot whence the sound proceeded. To our great
surprise, we discovered there a little infant, which had evidently been
carried down the stream, and its dress having got entangled amongst the
thorns had prevented its being swept further on. Our providential
arrival saved its life; for it was drawing towards the close of evening,
and the little creature, already half dead with cold and exposure, must
inevitably have perished in the course of the night. In one word, we
carried it to my chateau, where it grew up to be the beautiful girl you
see--the sole comfort and happiness of my life."
"But her parents, did you never discover any thing about them--who or
what they were--the motive of so strange an abandonment?" exclaimed
General de Lucenay in an agitated voice. "Was there no clue by which to
trace them?"
"No, I made all inquiries, but in vain. Besides, it was many miles from
any habitation that we found her. I sent the following day, and made
many inquiries in the neighbourhood; but no one could give us any
information on the subject; so, after an interval of months, I gave the
point up as hopeless. One thing only is certain, that they were not
inferiors; the fineness of her dress, and a little relic encased in gold
and precious stones, that she wore round her neck, were sufficient
proofs of that."
"This is, indeed, most singular!" cried the General. "And do you
recollect the precise date of this occurrence?"
"Recollect a day which for many years I have been in the habit of
celebrating as the brightest of my life! Assuredly--it was the
fourteenth of May--and well do I remember it."
"The fourteenth of May! it must be, it is, my long-lost, my long-mourned
daughter!" cried the General.
"Your daughter!" exclaimed all around in the greatest astonishment.
"Yes, my daughter," repeated the General. "You shall hear all: but
first--the relic, the relic! where is it? let me see it. That would be
the convincing proof indeed."
"It is easy to satisfy you," replied Inez, "for it never leaves me;"
and, taking a small chain, she handed him a little filigree gold case
that she wore in her bosom.
"The same! the same! these are my wife's initials on it. This is indeed
a wonderful dispensation of Providence, to find a daughter after having
so long mourned her as lost; and to find her all my heart could have
wished, more than my most ambitious prayers could have asked! Oh, this
is too much happiness! Alas!" he continued in a tone of deep feeling,
while he drew the astonished and stupefied girl towards him, and,
parting the dark locks on her brow, imprinted a paternal kiss upon her
forehead, "Would that my poor Dolores had lived to see this hour! how
would it have repaid the years of sorrow and mourning your loss
occasioned her?"
"But how! what is this; it is most extraordinary?" exclaimed the Conde,
who had waited in speechless surprise the _dA(C)noA"ment_ of this unexpected
scene.
The General explained. His wife had been a Spanish lady of high birth.
Returning to France from a visit to her relations, they had stopped to
change horses at a little _posada_ on the banks of the Guadiana; their
little daughter, a child of eight months old, had sprung out of its
nurse's arms into the river. Every effort to recover the child was
fruitless; it sank and disappeared. They returned to France, and, after
a few years, his wife died. "You may judge, then, of my feelings on
hearing your story, SeA+-or Conde," concluded the General; "the name of
the river and the date first roused my suspicions, which the result has
so fully confirmed."
"My child, my child! and must I then lose thee!" cried the Count,
clasping the young girl in his arms in an agony of grief.
"Never!" passionately exclaimed Inez. "_Tuya A la vida a la muerta!_"
"Not so, SeA+-or Conde; the man who has treated her so nobly has the best
right to her," said the General. "I will never take her from you; an
occasional visit is all I shall ask."