ASSISTANCE.
The man who now entered the hall of mirrors was dressed like the riders
who promenade at the Bucareli, and gallop at carriage doors--that is to
say, in trousers with silk stripes down the sides, and a broad-brimmed
hat decorated with a double gold string and tassels.
He walked gracefully up to Don Sebastian, still holding his hat in his
right hand, bowed to him with that exquisite grace of which the Mexicans
alone seem to have the privilege, and thrusting his hand into his side,
he said, with an accent of cutting sarcasm, and in a harsh, metallic
voice--
"Do you recognize me, Don Sebastian, and do you believe that I am really
alive, and that it is not the ghost of Martial the Tigrero which has
come from the grave to address you?"
At the same moment Belhumeur's clever, knowing face could be seen
peering through the doorway. With his eyes obstinately fixed on the
general, he seemed to be impatiently expecting an answer, which the
latter, struggling with several different feelings, evidently hesitated
to give. Still, he was compelled to form a resolution, so he rose and
looked the Tigrero boldly in the face.
"Who are you, señor?" he said, in a firm voice, "and by what right do
you question me?"
"Well played," said Valentine, with a laugh; "by heaven, caballero,
it is a pleasure to contend with you, for, on my soul, you are a rude
adversary."
"Do you think so?" Don Sebastian asked, with a hoarse laugh.
"Certainly," the hunter continued, "and I am delighted to bear my
testimony to the fact; hence you had better yield at once, for you are
in a dilemma from which you cannot escape, not even by a master stroke."
There was a silence, lasting some minutes. At length the general
seemed to make up his mind, for he turned to Belhumeur, who was still
listening, and bowed to him with ironical politeness.
"Why stand half hidden by that door?" he said to him; "pray enter,
caballero, for your presence here will be most agreeable to the whole
company."
The Canadian at once entered, and after giving the general a respectful
bow he leant over the back of Valentine's chair. The latter eagerly
followed all the incidents of the strange scene that was being played
before him, and in which he appeared to be a disinterested spectator
rather than an actor.
"You see, señores," the general said, haughtily, "that I imitate your
example, and, like you, play fairly. I believe that you entered my house
in order to propose a bargain to me, Don Valentine? You, señor," he
said, turning to the Tigrero, "whom I told that I did not recognize, and
whom I have the honour of receiving at my house for the first time, have
doubtless come as witness for these caballeros, who are your friends.
Well, gentlemen, you shall all three be satisfied. I am awaiting your
proposal, Don Valentine. I allow, señor, that you, whose miraculous
resuscitation I have hitherto denied, are alive, and are really Don
Martial the ex-lover of Doña Anita de Torrés. As for you, señor, whom
I do not know, I authorize you to declare before any one you like the
truth of the words I utter. Are you all three satisfied, gentlemen? Is
there anything else I can do to afford you pleasure?--if so, speak, and
I am ready to satisfy you."
"A man could not yield to what is inevitable with better grace,"
Valentine replied, bowing ironically.
"Thanks for your approval, caballero, and be kind enough to let me know,
without further delay, the conditions on which you are willing to leave
off pursuing me with that terrible hatred with which you incessantly
threaten me, and whose result is rather long in coming, according to my
judgment."
These words were uttered with a mixture of pride and contempt impossible
to express, and which for a moment rendered Valentine dumb, so
extraordinary did the sudden change in his adversary's humour appear to
him.
"I am waiting," the general added, as he fell back in his chair, with an
air of weariness.
"We will bring matters to an end," Valentine said, drawing himself up
with an air of resolution.
"That is what I wish," the general interrupted him, as he lit a
cigarette, which he began smoking with the most profound coolness.
"These are my conditions," the hunter said distinctly and harshly, for
he was annoyed by this frigid indifference. "You will at once leave
Mexico, and give up Doña Anita, to whom you will not only restore her
liberty, but also the right of giving her hand and fortune to whomsoever
she pleases. You will sell your estates, and retire to the United
States, promising on oath never to return to Mexico. On my side, I
pledge myself to restore you your daughter's body, and never attempt to
injure you in any way."
"Have you anything more to add?" the general asked, as he coolly watched
the blue smoke of his cigarette as it rose in circles to the ceiling.
"Nothing; but take care, señor, I too have taken an oath, and from
what I have told you, you must have seen how far I have detected your
secrets. Accept or refuse, but come to a decision; for this is the last
time we shall meet face to face under the like conditions. The game we
are playing is a terrible one, and must end in the death of one of us;
and I shall show you no pity, as, doubtless, you will show me none.
Reflect seriously before answering yes or no, and I give you half an
hour to decide."
The general burst into a sharp and nervous laugh. "_Viva Dios_,
caballero!" he exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of his head, "I have
listened to you with extreme surprise. You dispose of my will with an
incomparable facility. I do not know who gives you the right to speak
and act as you are doing; but, by heaven, hatred, however active it may
be, can in no case possess this privilege. You fancy yourself much more
powerful than you really are, I fancy; but, at any rate, whatever may
happen, bear this carefully in mind--I will not retreat an inch before
you. Accepting your impudent and ridiculous conditions would be to
cover myself with shame and my utter ruin. Were you the genius of Evil
clothed in mortal form, I would not the less persist in the track I have
laid down for myself, and in which I will persevere at my own risk and
peril; however terrible may be the obstacles you raise, I will overthrow
them or succumb bravely, buried beneath the ruins of my abortive
plans and my destroyed fortunes. Hence consider yourself warned, Don
Valentine; that I despise your menaces, and they will not stop me. And
you, Don Martial, since such is your name, that I shall marry my ward,
in spite of the efforts you may make to prevent me, and shall do so
because I wish it, and because no man in the world has ever attempted
to resist my will without being at once mercilessly crushed. And now,
señores, as we have said all we have to say to each other, and I think
there is no more, and we can have no doubt as to our mutual intentions,
permit me to take leave of you, for I wish to go to the Santa Anna
theatre, and it is already very late."
He rang the bell, and a footman came in.
"Order the carriage," he said to him.
"Then," Valentine said as he rose, "it is war to the death between us."
"War to the death! be it so."
"We shall only meet once again, general," the hunter remarked; "and that
will be on the eve of your death, when you are in Capilla."
"I accept the meeting, and will bow uncomplainingly before you if you
are powerful enough to obtain that result; but, believe me, I am not
there yet."
"You are nearer your fall than you perhaps suppose."
"That is possible; but enough of this; any further conversation will be
useless. Light these gentlemen down," he said to the servant, who at
this moment entered the room.
The three men rose, exchanged dumb bows with the general, and,
accompanied by him to the door of the room, they followed the footman,
who preceded them with candles. Two carriages were waiting at the foot
of the stairs; Valentine and his friends got into one of them, the
general took his seat in the other, and they heard him give the order in
a firm voice to drive to the Santa Anna theatre. The coachmen flogged
their horses, which started at a gallop, and the two carriages left the
house, the gates of which were closed after them.
The Santa Anna theatre was built in 1844 by the Spanish architect,
Hidalgo. This building has externally nothing remarkable about it,
either in regard to frontage or position; but we are glad to state that
the interior is convenient, elegant, and even grand.
After passing through the external portico, you enter a yard covered
with a glass dome, next come wide stairs with low steps, large and lofty
lobbies, a double row of galleries looking on the front yard, and airy
crush-rooms for the promenaders.
The house is well built, well decorated, and spacious; it has three rows
of boxes, with a lower circle representing the pit boxes, and another
above the third circle for the lower classes. In the pit, it is worth
mentioning that each visitor has his stall, which he reaches easily and
comfortably by passages formed down the centre and round the theatre.
The boxes nearly all contain ten persons, and are separated from each
other by light colonnades and partitions. To each box is attached a
room, to which people withdraw between the acts, and, instead of the
balconies which in our theatres conceal a great part of the ladies'
toilets, the boxes have only a ledge a few inches in height, which
allows the splendid dresses of the audience to be fully admired.
We have dwelt, perhaps with a little complacency, on this description of
the Santa Anna theatre, for we thought that, at the moment when it is
intended to rebuild the Opera and other Parisian theatres, there can be
no harm in displaying the difference that exists between the frightful
dens in which the spectators are thrust together pell-mell every night
in a city like Paris, which claims to be the first, not only in Europe,
but in the whole world, and the spacious airy theatres of a country like
Mexico, which in so many respects is inferior to us as regards ideas of
civilization and comfort. It would, however, be very easy, we fancy, to
obtain in Paris the advantageous results the Mexicans have enjoyed for
twenty years, and that at a slight expense. Unfortunately, whatever may
be said, the French are the most thorough routine nation in the world,
and we greatly fear that, in spite of incessant protests, things will
remain for a long time in the same state as they are today.
When the general entered his box, which was in the first circle,
and almost facing the stage, the house presented a truly fairy-like
appearance. The extraordinary performance had brought an immense throng
of spectators and ladies, whose magnificent dresses were covered with
diamonds, which glittered and flashed beneath the light that played on
them.
Don Sebastian, after bending forward for a moment to exchange bows with
his numerous acquaintances, and prove his presence, withdrew to the back
of the box, opened his glasses, and began looking carelessly about him.
But though, through a powerful effort of the will, his face was cold,
calm, and unmoved, a terrible storm was raging in the general's heart.
The scene that had taken place a few minutes previously at his mansion,
had filled him with anxiety and gloomy forebodings, for he understood
that his adversaries must either believe or feel themselves very
strong thus to dare and defy him to the face, and audaciously enter
his very house. In vain he tortured his mind to find means to get rid
of his obstinate enemy; but time pressed, his situation became at each
moment more critical, and unless some bold and desperate stroke proved
successful, he felt instinctively that he was lost without chance of
salvation.
The president's box was occupied by the first magistrate of the
Republic, and some of his aide-de-camps. Several times, Don Sebastian
fancied that the president's eyes were fixed on him with a strange
expression, after which he bent over and whispered some remarks to
the gentlemen who accompanied him. Perhaps, this was not real, and the
general's pricked conscience suggested to him suspicions far from the
thoughts of those against whom he had so many reasons to be on his
guard; but whether real or not, these suspicions tortured his heart and
proved to him the necessity of coming to an end at all risks.
Still the performance went on; the curtain had just fallen before the
last act, and the general, devoured by anxiety, and persuaded that he
had remained long enough in the theatre to testify his presence, was
preparing to retire, when the door of his box opened, and Colonel Lupo
walked in.
"Ah, is it you, colonel?" Don Sebastian said to him as he offered his
hand and gave him a forced smile. "You are welcome; I did not hope any
longer to have the pleasure of seeing you, and I was just going away."
"Pray do not let me stop you, general, I have only a few words to say to
you."
"Our business?"
"Goes on famously."
"No suspicion?"
"Not the shadow."
The general breathed like a man from whose chest a crushing weight has
been just removed.
"Can I be of any service to you?" he said, absently.
"For the present, I have only come for your sake."
"How so?"
"I was accosted today by a lepero, a villain of the worst sort, who
says that he wishes to avenge himself on a certain Frenchman, whom
he declares you know, and he desires to place himself under your
protection, in the event of the blade of his navaja accidentally
slipping into his enemy's body."
"Hum! that is serious," the general said with an imperceptible start. "I
do not know how far I dare go in being bail for such a scoundrel."
"He declares that you have known him a long time, and that while doing
his own business, he will be doing yours."
"You know that I am no admirer of navajadas, for an assassination always
injures the character of a politician."
"That is true; but you cannot be rendered responsible for the crimes any
villain may think proper to commit."
"Did this worthy gentleman tell you his name, my dear colonel?"
"Yes; but I believe that it would be better to mention it in the open
air, rather than in this place."
"One word more; have you cleverly deceived him, and do you think that he
really intends to be useful to us?"
"Useful to you, you mean."
"As you please."
"I could almost assert it."
"Well, we will be off; have you weapons about you?"
"I should think so; it would be madness to go about Mexico unarmed."
"I have pistols in my pocket, so I will dismiss my carriage, and we will
walk home to my house; does that suit you, my dear colonel?"
"Excellently, general, the more so because if you evince any desire to
see the scoundrel in question, nothing will be easier than for me to
take you to the den he occupies, without attracting attention."
The general looked at his accomplice fixedly. "You have not told me all,
colonel?" he said.
"I have not, general, but I am convinced that you understand the motive,
which at this moment keeps my mouth shut."
"In that case, let us be off."
He wrapped himself in his cloak and left the box, followed by the
colonel. A footman was waiting under the portico for his orders to bring
up the carriage.
"Return to the house," the general said; "it is a fine night, and I feel
inclined for a walk."
The footman retired.
"Come, colonel," Don Sebastian went on.
They left the theatre and proceeded slowly toward the Portales de
Mercaderes, which were entirely deserted at this advanced hour of the
night.