"VA CON DIOS!"
Though I had already made myself acquainted with his usual hour of
repairing to the pulqueria, I had not timed it neatly.
For twenty minutes I stood with the _billetita_ in my hand, and the
doubloon in my pocket, both ready to be entrusted to him. No cochero
came forth.
The house rose three stories from the street--its massive mason work
giving it a look of solemn grandeur. The great gaol-like gate--knobbed
all over like the hide of an Indian rhinoceros--was shut and secured by
strong locks and double bolting. There was no light in the _sagnan_
behind it; and not a ray shone through the jalousies above.
Not remembering that in Mexican mansions there are many spacious
apartments without street windows, I might have imagined that the Casa
Villa-Senor was either uninhabited, or that the inmates had retired to
rest. The latter was not likely: it wanted twenty minutes to ten.
What had become of my cochero? Half-past nine was the hour I had
usually observed him strolling forth; and I had now been upon the spot
since a quarter past eight. Something must be keeping him indoors--an
extra scouring of his plated harness or grooming of his _frisones_?
This thought kept me patient, as I paced to and fro under the portico of
Don Eusebio's "opposite neighbour."
Ten o'clock! The sonorous campana of the Cathedral was striking the
noted hour--erst celebrated in song. A score of clocks in
church-steeples, that tower thickly over the City of the Angels, had
taken up the cue; and the air of the night vibrated melodiously under
the music of bell metal.
To kill time--and another bird with the same stone--I took out my
repeater, with the intention of regulating it. I knew it was not the
most correct of chronometers. The oil lamp on the opposite side enabled
me to note the position of the hands upon the dial. Its dimness,
however, caused delay; and I may have been engaged some minutes in the
act.
After returning the watch to its fob, I once more glanced towards the
entrance of Don Eusebio's dwelling--at a wicket in the great gate,
through which I expected the cochero to come.
The gate was still close shut; but, to my surprise, the man was standing
outside of it! Either he, or some one else?
I had heard no noise--no shooting of bolts, nor creaking of hinges.
Surely it could not be the cochero?
I soon perceived that it was not; nor anything that in the least degree
resembled him.
My _vis-a-vis_ on the opposite side of the street was, like myself,
enveloped in a cloak, and wearing a black sombrero.
Despite the disguise, and the dim light afforded by the _lard_, there
was no mistaking him for either domestic, tradesman, or lepero. His air
and attitude--his well-knit figure, gracefully outlined underneath the
loose folds of the broadcloth--above all, the lineaments of a handsome
face--at once proclaimed the "cavallero."
In appearance he was a man of about my own age: twenty-five, not more.
Otherwise he may have had the advantage of me; for, as I gazed on his
features--ill lit as they were by the feebly glimmering lamp--I fancied
I had never looked on finer.
A pair of black moustaches curled away from the corners of a mouth, that
exhibited twin rows of white regular teeth. They were set in a pleasing
smile.
Why that pain shooting through my heart, as I beheld it?
I was disappointed that he was not the cochero for whom I had been
keeping watch. But it was not this. Far different was the sentiment
with which I regarded him. Instead of the "go-between" I had expected
to employ, I felt a suspicion, that I was looking upon a _rival_!
A successful one, too, I could not doubt. His splendid appearance gave
earnest of that.
He had not paused in front of the Casa Villa-Senor without a purpose--as
was evident from the way in which he paced the banquette beneath, while
glancing at the balcon above. I could see that his eyes were fixed on
that very window--by my own oft passionately explored!
His look and bearing--both full of confidence--told that he had been
there before--often before; and that he was now at the spot--not like
myself on an errand of doubtful speculation, but by _appointment_!
I could tell, that he had not come to avail himself of the services of
the cochero. His eyes did not turn towards the grand entrance-gate, but
remained fixed upon the balcony above--where he evidently expected some
one to make appearance.
Shadowed by the portal, I was not seen by him; though I cared not a
straw about that. My remaining in concealment was a mere mechanical
act--an instinct, if you prefer the phrase. From the first I felt
satisfied, that my own "game was up," and that I had no longer any
business with the domestic of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor. His daughter was
already engaged!
Of course I thought only of Mercedes. It would have been absurd to
suppose that the man I saw before me could be _after_ the other. The
idea did not enter my brain--reeling at the sight of my successful
rival.
Unlike me, he was not kept long in suspense. Ten o'clock had evidently
been the hour of appointment. The cathedral was to give the time; and,
as the tolling commenced, the cloaked cavalier had entered the street,
and hastened forward to the place.
As the last strokes were reverberating upon the still night air, I saw
the blind silently drawn aside; while a face--too often outlined in my
dreams--now, in dim but dread reality, appeared within the embayment of
the window.
The instant after, and a form, robed in dark habiliments, stepped
silently out into the balcony; a white arm was stretched over the
balusters; something still whiter, appearing at the tips of tapering
fingers, fell noiselessly into the street, accompanied by the softly
whispered words:
"_Querido Francisco; va con Dios_!" (God be with you, dear Francis!)
Before the _billet-doux_ could be picked up from the pavement, the fair
whisperer disappeared within the window; the jalousie was once more
drawn: and both house and street relapsed into sombre silence.
No one passing the mansion of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor could have told,
that his daughter had been committing an _indiscretion_. That secret
was in the keeping of two individuals; one to whom it had, no doubt,
imparted supreme happiness; the other to whom it had certainly given a
moment of misery!