LA TERTULIA (THE PARTY).
We must now introduce our readers to the Hacienda del Cormillo, two
days later than the event we have just narrated.
Towards eight o'clock in the evening, two persons were seated in the
drawing room of the _hacienda_, close to a _brasero_ (brasier); for the
nights were still cold.
A stranger opening the doors of this room could have fancied himself
transported to the Faubourg St. Germain, it was so elegantly
furnished in the French fashion. Parisian luxury was exhibited in the
carpets, Parisian taste in the choice of the furniture. Nothing was
forgotten,--not even a pianoforte by Erard, on which lay the scores
of Parisian operas, nor a magnificent harmonium from the workshops of
Alexandre; and as if to prove that glory travels far, and genius has
wings, the novels and poems in fashion at Paris strewed a round table
by Boule. Everything put you in mind of France and Paris, with the
exception of the silver _brasero_, which, with its glowing knots of
olive wood, showed that you were in Spanish America. This magnificent
withdrawing room was lighted up by candles of rose-coloured wax, in
handsome chandeliers.
It was Don Pedro and his daughter who was seated by the _brasero_. Doña
Hermosa was clad in a dress of the greatest simplicity, which made her
look still more charming. She was smoking a tiny cigarette, rolled in a
maize leaf, which did not interrupt the flow of her conversation with
her father.
"Yes," said she, "the most lovely birds in the world have been brought
to the _presidio_."
"Well, _querida chica?_" (my darling).
"It appears to me that my dearest father is not quite as gallant as
usual tonight," she said, pouting a little, like a spoilt child.
"What do you know about that, señorita?" answered Don Pedro, laughing.
"What! Is it the truth?" she exclaimed, as she jumped from her seat,
and clapped her hands together; "You have thought--"
"Of buying you the birds. Tomorrow you will see your feathered
subjects, and your aviary stocked with parakeets, love birds, Bengalis,
hummingbirds, and Heaven knows how many others. There are at least four
hundred of them, you little ingrate!"
"Oh, how kind you are! And how I love you!" replied the girl, throwing
herself into her father's arms, and kissing him a thousand times.
"That will do, that will do, little monkey! Do you want to stifle me
with kisses?"
"What shall I do to show my gratitude for such kind forethought?"
"Poor little dear!" said he sadly; "I have only yourself to love now."
"Say to adore, my dearest father; for it is adoration you feel for me;
and I too love you with all the strength of love which God has given
me."
"And yet," said Don Pedro, in tones of gentle reproach, "you are not
afraid of causing me uneasiness."
"I!" said Hermosa, beginning to tremble.
"Yes, you," he replied, threatening her with uplifted finger; "you are
concealing something from me."
"Father!" she murmured softly.
"Daughter, a father's eye can pierce to the bottom of the heart of a
girl of sixteen. Some extraordinary change has taken place in you these
last few days: your thoughts are strangely preoccupied."
"You are right, father," she replied with a good deal of firmness.
"And what are you dreaming about, little girl?" asked Don Pedro,
smiling to conceal his anxiety.
"About Don Torribio de Quiroga, father."
"Aha!" replied he, "Because you love him, I suppose?"
Doña Hermosa drew herself up, and assumed a serious expression.
"I!" said she, placing her hand on her bosom, "No! I deceived myself
until today. I do not love Don Torribio, and yet I cannot help thinking
of him, although I do not know why. Since his return from Europe, a
change has come over him for which I cannot account. It seems to me,
that he is not the same person who was brought up with me. His look
pains, yet fascinates me; his voice raises a feeling of undefinable
sorrow. Certainly, the man is handsome; his manners are noble, and his
bearing that of a highbred gentleman: yet there is something nameless
about him which chills me, and inspires invincible repugnance."
"How romantic!" said Don Pedro, laughing.
"Laugh at me! Mock me!" she replied, her voice trembling. "Shall I
confess everything, father?"
"Speak confidently, dearest child."
"I will. I believe this man, whom I thought I loved, will bring evil
upon me."
"Child," replied Don Pedro, kissing her forehead, "what ill could he do
you?"
"Father, I cannot tell; but I dread it."
"Do you wish me to break with him, and not to admit him again?"
"Heaven forbid! It would certainly hasten the misfortune that threatens
me."
"Pooh! you are a spoilt child! You grow whimsical, and amuse yourself
by creating phantoms. All these fears and imaginary presentiments
spring from your love for your cousin. The only way to restore your
tranquillity is to marry you to him as soon as possible; and be sure,
my dear, that is what I intend to do."
Doña Hermosa shook her head sorrowfully, and cast down her eyes,
but she made no reply: she felt that her father had completely
misunderstood her meaning, and that any attempt to bring him over to
her wishes would be vain.
Just at that moment a _peon_ announced Don Torribio, who entered the
room.
He was dressed in the latest Paris fashion; and the glare of the
candles lighted up his handsome face.
Father and daughter both trembled; the one perhaps with joy, the other
certainly with fear.
Don Torribio, after gracefully saluting Doña Hermosa, approached her
and respectfully offered her a superb bouquet of exotic flowers. She
took them with a forced smile, and, without looking at them, placed
them on the table.
Soon after, other persons were announced: the governor, Don José
Kalbris, and his staff; two or three other families--in all, about
twenty people; and lastly, Don Estevan Dias, and Don Fernando Carril.
It was certainly impossible to recognise the hardy backwoodsman, the
redoubtable bee-hunter, who a few days before had done Don Pedro and
his daughter such signal service, in the elegant caballero who arrived
in the company of the _mayor domo_ of the hacienda. His irreproachable
bearing, his distinguished manner, in short, all about him, banished
suspicion, or rather prevented comparison.
We have already said that Don Fernando Carril, although his life was
wrapped in impenetrable mystery, was superficially known to all the
best society in the provinces, and, thanks to the easy-going manners
of the Mexicans, received in the best families. His presence at the
hacienda was, therefore, nothing extraordinary. Nevertheless, his
appearance excited lively curiosity in the guests; for it was a long
time since Don Fernando had been seen at any entertainment.
Like Don Torribio, the hunter, when he entered the room, approached
Doña Hermosa, bowed profoundly to her, and respectfully offered her a
flower he held in his hand.
"Señorita," said he, in a voice full of suppressed emotion, "deign to
accept this modest flower; it grows only in the desert," he added,
significantly.
Doña Hermosa trembled at the sound of his voice, which she thought she
had recognised; a lively blush rose to her cheeks; and dropping her
eyes under the ardent gaze fixed upon her, she took the flower and
placed it in her bosom, as she answered inarticulately:
"Everything that comes from the desert will be dear to me henceforth."
The conversation of the guests had by this time grown animated. The
little incident passed without remark, except from one person, who,
with that kind of intuition which springs from love and jealousy, had
divined in Don Fernando one who, if not an openly declared rival, was,
at least, preferred in secret.
This person was Don Torribio Quiroga.
Leaning towards Don Estevan, who chanced to be near him, he said, in
a voice low indeed but perfectly distinct and audible to all: "What
golden key does this man possess, whom nobody knows, by which he
introduces himself into honourable families, where his presence is
neither desired nor invited?"
"Ask him yourself, señor," said Don Estevan dryly; "he will most likely
be able to explain his conduct satisfactorily."
"I shall follow your advice this instant, señor," answered Don Torribio
haughtily.
"It is unnecessary, caballero; I heard your words perfectly," said Don
Fernando.
His voice was calm, and he made a courteous bow to Don Torribio, while
an ironical smile curled his lips for a moment.
All conversation had been suddenly broken off; a profound silence
reigned over those present, and the looks of all were turned in
curiosity towards the two men.
Doña Hermosa, pale and trembling, cast a look of entreaty on her father.
Don Pedro walked resolutely into the middle, of the room, and placed
himself between the two caballeros.
"What does this mean, señores?" said he. "Is this the idea of propriety
you have brought back from your travels in Europe, Don Torribio? Do
you dare to turn my drawing room into lists wherein to break your lance
in personal quarrels? What right have you to cavil at Don Fernando's
presence here? You are not my son-in-law yet, as far as I know. I am
master here, and can receive whom I think fit."
"Even cutthroats and _salteadores_ (highwaymen), cousin, if such is
your good pleasure," replied the young man, with an ironical bow.
Don Fernando looked as if he were going to rush upon the man who had
thus insulted him, but managed to contain himself.
"Will Don Torribio deign to explain himself," he said calmly, "and not
speak in enigmas?"
"And whose fault is it, caballero, if I speak in enigmas? Are you not
the cause of the mystery?"
"Enough, caballeros!" exclaimed Don Pedro; "He who utters another word
on this subject, makes me his mortal enemy."
The two men bowed respectfully to the hacendero and separated, but not
without having exchanged looks of terrible expression.
"Well, colonel," continued Don Pedro, addressing the governor, in the
hopes of glossing over the lamentable altercation, "What news from La
Ciudad? Is Mexico still tranquil?"
"Our great Santa Anna," replied the colonel, who was choking in his
uniform, "has once more soundly beaten the audacious general who has
dared to issue a _pronunciamiento_ (manifesto) against him."
"Thank God! Perhaps this victory will procure us the tranquillity of
which commerce stands so much in need."
"Yes," said a rich hacendero, a neighbour of Don Pedro. "Communication
has been so difficult of late, that we can forward nothing."
"Are the redskins at work?" asked a merchant, whom these words had
troubled.
"No," said the governor; "there is no danger from them. The last lesson
they got was a rude one, and they will not forget it. For a long time
they have not dared to invade our frontiers."
An almost imperceptible smile curled the lips of Don Fernando. "You
forget the Tigercat and his adherents," said he.
"Oh! the Tigercat is only a bandit," said the governor hastily.
"Besides, Government is at this moment preparing an expedition against
him, so as to finish, once and for all, with his band of brigands."
"It is an admirable idea," said Don Torribio, with a sarcastic sneer.
"It is time this frontier should be cleared of the host of fellows,
with more than equivocal habits, who infest it."
"I am quite of the same opinion; it seems a most sensible measure,"
said Don Fernando quietly, but giving back to his adversary a smile as
bitter as his own.
"In case of invasion, do you think the Indians able to give the
province much trouble?" asked the merchant.
"H'm!" said Don José, with a patronising air; "People entertain
exaggerated ideas of these redskins; in fact, they are but miserable
wretches."
Don Fernando smiled again; but this time the smile was savage and
sinister.
"Señor _gobernador_," said he, "you are not quite right. To judge by
the news you were good enough to communicate, I believe the Indians
will keep quite peaceably at home, unless they are determined to tempt
ill luck."
"_¡Rayo de Dios!_ I should think so," replied the governor.
"Ah! Señorita," said Don Torribio, gracefully turning to Doña Hermosa,
"may I pray of your kindness to let us hear that delicious song from
the _Domino Noir_, which you sang to such perfection a few days ago?"
Doña Hermosa, darted a look from under her long lashes at Don
Fernando. The latter's eyes conveyed a mute prayer of entreaty. Without
further hesitation, she placed herself at the piano, and, in a pure and
feeling voice, sang the romance in the third act.
"I remember having heard that delicious romance sung in Paris by Madame
Demareau, that nightingale who flew away too soon," said Don Torribio,
bowing gallantly to Doña Hermosa. "I know not whether you or she sang
it with most taste and spirit."
She answered: "Cousin, you have lived too long in France."
"How so, señorita?"
"Because," she replied, with a smile as cold and keen as the point of a
poniard, "France has made you a detestable flatterer."
"_¡Bravo!_" chuckled the fat governor, whose cheeks shook with delight.
"You see Don Torribio, our creoles rival the Parisian ladies in the
smartness of their repartee."
"Incontestably, colonel," answered Don Torribio. "But I can take my own
part," he added in an undefinable tone; "I shall soon have my revenge."
And he cast a glance at Don Fernando and Doña Hermosa, who were seated
close to each other, which made the girl shudder with fear.
"Don Fernando, and you other caballeros, here present," said the
governor, addressing the guests, "I hope that tomorrow you will attend
the _Te Deum_ to be sung in honour of our glorious Santa Anna."
"I shall have the honour," said Don Fernando. The others made a similar
response.
"As for me," said Don Torribio, "you must excuse me, colonel; for
business compels me to leave tonight."
"What!" cried Don Pedro, in astonishment; "You are going to travel
tonight, cousin?"
"I am indeed, Señor Don Pedro; I am obliged to leave you, even though I
have but just arrived."
"Well, that is a singular and most unforeseen resolution. Where are you
going?"
"Excuse me if I keep the object of my expedition secret. Certain
persons must not have the sole right of making mysterious excursions."
"Indeed!" said Don Pedro peevishly. "And do you intend to stay away
long?"
"I hope not, but dare not say I am sure."
"So much the better. Come back to us as soon as you can; for," said he
significantly, "your return will please all of us here."
"_¿Quién sabe?_" (who knows?) muttered Don Torribio, with a sinister
expression.
Doña Hermosa, who overheard these two words, could no longer master her
fears.
While Don Pedro and his cousin were exchanging these words, the girl
Whispered to Don Estevan:
"Brother, tomorrow, after mass, I want to speak to you at my nurse's."
"To me, or to my friend?" said Don Estevan softly.
"To both," she answered, with feverish agitation.
Don Estevan and Don Fernando now retired with joyful hearts. The latter
was sure that Doña Hermosa had recognised him.
The other visitors also gradually departed, till Don Torribio de
Quiroga was left alone with his host.
"Cousin," said he, in a low and broken voice, as he bent down to the
lady to bid her farewell, "I am about to begin a journey in which I
shall incur considerable danger. May I hope you will remember the
traveller in your prayers?"
Hermosa looked him in the face for an instant, and replied with an
austerity unusual in her:
"Cousin, I cannot pray for the success of a journey the purport of
which I do not know."
"Thanks for your frankness, señorita," he replied, without exhibiting
emotion; "I shall not forget your words."
"So you are really going, Don Torribio?" said Don Pedro, who joined
them at the moment.
"This very instant, cousin: all is ready for my departure."
"Then I wish you luck! I hope we shall soon hear from you?"
"Yes," he replied, with a singular expression; "you shall soon hear of
me. Farewell!"
"What is the matter with your cousin, _niña?_" asked Don Pedro, when he
found himself alone with his daughter: "His conduct tonight has been
very strange."
Before she could answer, the door opened. "The _capataz_ of the
Hacienda de las Norias," said a _peon_ who had entered, "wishes to
speak to Señor Don Pedro de Luna on affairs of consequence."
"Admit him instantly," replied Don Pedro to the domestic who had
announced the arrival of the _capataz_ so pompously.
Don Torribio was terribly agitated when he left the house. He looked
back, and cast a venomous eye on the windows of the room, on which he
could see the graceful shadow of Doña Hermosa.
"Proud girl," said he in a terrible voice, "I hate you with all the
power of the love I once felt for you! Soon, very soon, I will punish
you for your disdain."
Then, wrapping his cloak around him, he rapidly took the direction of
the nearest _patio_ (out-buildings), where he hoped to find his horse.
Indeed, he found him there; a _peon_ holding the bridle. Don Torribio
seized the reins, threw the _peon_ a piastre, flung himself into the
saddle, and rode off at a gallop.
"_Wagh!_" said the Indian, picking up the money; "What ails the young
master? One would think him mad. How he scampered off!"
In the meantime Don Torribio had left the hacienda behind him, and was
making all haste on the road to San Lucar.
But he had not ridden more than a quarter of an hour, when suddenly, at
a turn of the road, his horse gave a start of terror, reared, and flew
round, with his ears laid close to his head. Don Torribio looked to see
what had alarmed the animal.
A man of tall stature, mounted on a strong black horse, held the middle
of the road four or five paces in advance of him, and completely barred
his passage.
Don Torribio cocked a pistol.
"Holloa, caballero!" he cried in a sharp tone; "Move to the right or
the left."
"Neither to one nor the other, Don Torribio de Quiroga. I want to speak
to you."
"It is a singular demand at this time of night, and in such a place."
"I did not choose either time or place. Did you not receive a note
without a signature today?"
"I did," said Don Torribio, striking his forehead; "and the note
proposed--"
"To teach you things," hastily interrupted the stranger, "which it is
important you should know at once."
"Those were the words contained in the note."
"It was I who sent it."
"Indeed?" said Don Torribio, surprised; "was it you?"
"Yes; and I am ready to satisfy you; but to do that, you must follow
me."
"But what good will it do me to know these matters? Perhaps it would be
better to leave them untold."
"As you please; I do not force you to listen to me. Everyone is free
to act as he chooses. If you prefer to sit down under insult without
avenging yourself, I have no objection."
These words were uttered with such a sneer, that Don Torribio could not
help shuddering.
"Do you in truth offer me revenge?" he asked in a voice half stifled
with the rage surging at his heart.
"You shall judge, if you will follow me."
"Demon!" cried Don Torribio, "Whoever thou may'st be, lead on, since it
must be so! I will follow thee, even unto hell."
"Amen," said the stranger, with a sinister chuckle.
The two riders dashed into the darkness, and the sound of their furious
pace was soon merged in profound silence.