That I _was_ forestalled, there could be no mistake.
There was no ambiguity about the meaning of the phrase: "God be with
you, dear Francis!" The coldest heart could not fail to interpret it--
coupled with the act to which it had been an accompaniment.
My heart was on fire. There was jealousy in it; and, more: there was
anger.
I believed, or fancied, that I had cause. If ever woman had given me
encouragement--by looks and smiles--that woman was Mercedes Villa-Senor.
All done to delude me--perhaps but to gratify the slightest whim of her
woman's vanity? She had shown unmistakeable signs of having noted my
glances of admiration. They were too earnest to have been
misunderstood. Perhaps she may have been a little flattered by them?
But, whether or no, I was confident of having received encouragement.
Once, indeed, a flower had been dropped from the _balcon_. It had the
air of an accident--with just enough design to make the act difficult of
interpretation. With the wish father to the thought, I accepted it as a
challenge; and, hastening along the pavement, I stooped, and picked the
flower up.
What I then saw was surely an approving smile--one that seemed to say:
"in return for your sword-knot." I thought so at the time; and fancied
I could see the tassel, protruding from a plait in the bodice of the
lady's dress--shown for an instant, and then adroitly concealed.
This sweet chapter of incidents occurred upon the occasion of my tenth
stroll through the Calle del Obispo. It was the last time I had the
chance of seeing Mercedes by twilight. After that came the irksome
interval of seclusiveness,--now to be succeeded by a prolonged period of
chagrin: for the dropping of the _billet-doux_, and the endearing
speech, had put an end to my hopes--as effectually as if I had seen
Mercedes enfolded in Francisco's arms.
Along with my chagrin I felt spite. I was under the impression that I
had been _played with_.
Upon whom should I expend it? On the Senorita?
There was no chance. She had retired from the balcony. I might never
see her again--there, or elsewhere? Who then? The man who had been
before me in her affections?
Should I cross over the street--confront--pick a quarrel with him, and
finish it at my sword's point? An individual whom I had never seen, and
who, in all probability, had never set eyes upon me!
Absurd as it may appear--absolutely unjust as it would have been--this
was actually my impulse!
It was succeeded by a gentler thought. Francisco's face was favourable
to him. I saw it more distinctly, as he leant forward under the lamp to
decipher the contents of the note. It was such a countenance as one
could not take offence at, without good cause; and a moment's reflection
convinced me that mine was not sufficient. He was not only innocent of
the grief his rivalry had given me, but in all likelihood ignorant of my
existence.
From that time forward he was likely to remain so.
Such was my reflection, as I turned to take my departure from the place.
There was no longer any reason for my remaining there. The cochero
might now come and go, without danger of being accosted by me. His
tardiness had lost him the chance of obtaining an _onza_; and the letter
I had been hitherto holding in my hand went crumpled back into my
pocket. Its warm words and soft sentiments--contrived with all the
skill of which I was capable--should never be read by her for whom they
had been indited!
So far as the offering of any further overtures on my part, I had done
with the daughter of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor; though I knew I had not
done with her in my heart, and that it would be long--long--before I
should get quit of her there.
I turned to go back to my quarters--in secret to resign myself to my
humiliation. I did not start instantly. Something whispered me to stay
a little longer. Perhaps there might be a second act to the episode I
had so unwillingly witnessed?
It could hardly be this that induced me to linger. It was evident she
did not intend reappearing. Her visit to the balcon had the air of
being made by stealth. I noted that once or twice she cast a quick
glance over her shoulder--as if watchful eyes were behind her, and she
had chosen a chance moment when they were averted.
The manoeuvre had been executed with more than ordinary caution. It was
easy to see they were lovers _without leave_. Ah! too well could I
comprehend the clandestine act!
Still standing concealed within the shadow of the portal, I watched
Francisco deciphering, or rather devouring, the note. How I envied him
those moments of bliss! The words traced upon the tiny sheet must be
sweet to him, as the sight was bitter to me.
His face was directly under the lamplight. I could see it was one that
woman might well love, and man be jealous of. No wonder he had won the
heart of Don Eusebio's daughter!
He was not long in making himself acquainted with the contents of the
epistle. Of course they caused him joy. I could trace it in the
pleased expression that made itself manifest in every line of his
countenance. Could I have seen my own, I might have looked upon a sad
contrast!
The reading came to a close. He folded the note, and with care--as
though intending it to be tenderly kept. It disappeared under his
cloak; the cloak was drawn closer around him; a fond parting look cast
up to the place from which he had received the sweet missive; and then,
turning along the pavement, he passed smilingly away.