BY THE WINDOW.
When the young lady left the sitting room to retire to her sleeping
apartment, the count followed her with a lingering look, apparently not
at all understanding the extraordinary conduct of his betrothed,
especially under the circumstances in which they stood to each other, as
they were so shortly to be married; but, after a few moments'
reflection, the count shook his head, as if to dispel the mournful
thoughts by which he was assailed, and, turning to Don Sylva, said:--
"Let us talk about business matters. Are you agreeable?"
"Have you anything new, then, to tell me?"
"Many things."
"Interesting?"
"You shall be the judge."
"Go on, then. I am all impatience to hear them."
"Let us proceed in rotation. You are aware, my friend, why I left
Guetzalli?"
"Perfectly. Well, have you succeeded?"
"As I expected. Thanks to certain letters of which I was the bearer,
and, above all, your kind recommendation, General Marcos received me in
the most charming manner. The reception he deigned to accord me was most
affectionate. In short, he gave me _carte blanche_, authorising me to
raise, not only one hundred and fifty men, but double the number if I
considered it necessary."
"Oh, that is magnificent."
"Is it not? He told me also that in a war like that I was about to
undertake--for my chase of the Apaches is a real war--he left me at
liberty to act as I pleased, ratifying beforehand all I might do, being
persuaded, as he added, that it would ever be for the interest and glory
of Mexico."
"Come, I am delighted with the result. And now, what are your
intentions?"
"I have resolved on quitting you to proceed, in the first place, to
Guetzalli, whence I have now been absent nearly three weeks. I want to
revisit my colony, in order to see if all goes on as I would wish, and if
my men are happy. On the other hand, I shall not be sorry, before
departing for possibly a long period with the greater part of my forces,
to protect my colonists from a _coup de main_, by throwing up round the
establishment earthworks strong enough to repulse an assault of the
savages. This is the more important, because Guetzalli must always
remain, to a certain extent, my headquarters."
"All right; and you start?"
"This very evening."
"So soon?"
"I must. You are aware how time presses at present."
"It is true. Have you nothing more to say to me?"
"Pardon me, I have one other point which I expressly reserved for the
last."
"You attach a great interest to it, then?"
"Immense."
"Oh, oh! I am listening to you, then, my friend. Speak quickly."
"On my arrival in this country, at a period when the enterprises I have
since successfully carried out were only in embryo, you were good
enough, Don Sylva, to place at my disposal not only your credit, which
is immense, but your riches, which are incalculable."
"It is true," the Mexican said with a smile.
"I availed myself largely of your offers, frequently assailing your
strong box, and employing your credit whenever the occasion presented
itself. Permit me now to settle with you the only part of the debt I can
discharge, for I am incapable of repaying the other. Here," he added,
taking a paper from his portfolio, "is a bill for 100,000 piastres,
payable at sight on Walter Blount and Co., bankers, of Mexico. I am
happy, believe me, Don Sylva, to be able to pay this debt so promptly,
not because--"
"Pardon me," the hacendero quickly interrupted him, and declining with a
gesture the paper the Count offered him, "we no longer understand each
other, it seems to me."
"How so?"
"I will explain. On your arrival at Guaymas, you presented yourself to
me, bearing a pressing letter of recommendation from a man to whom I
owed very great obligations a few years back. The Baron de Spurtzheim
described you to me rather as a beloved son than as a friend in whom he
took interest. My house was at once opened to you--it was my duty to do
so. Then, when I knew you, and could appreciate all that was noble and
grand in your character, our relations, at first rather cold, became
closer and more intimate. I offered you my daughter's hand, which you
accepted."
"And gladly so," the count explained.
"Very good," the hacendero continued with a smile. "The money I could
receive from a stranger--money which he honestly owes me--belongs to my
son-in-law. Tear up that paper, then, my dear count, and pray do not
think of such a trifle."
"Ah!" the count said, in a tone of vexation, "that was exactly what
troubled me. I am not your son-in-law yet, and may I confess it? I fear
I never shall be."
"What can make you fancy that? Have you not my promise? The word of Don
Sylva de Torrés, Sir Count de Lhorailles, is a pledge which no one has
ever yet dared to doubt."
"And for that reason I have no such idea. It is not you I am afraid of."
"Who, then?"
"Doña Anita."
"Oh, oh! My friend, you must explain yourself, for I confess I do not
understand you at all," Don Sylva said sharply, as he rose and began
walking up and down the room in considerable agitation.
"Good gracious, my friend, I am quite in despair at having produced this
discussion! I love Doña Anita. Love, as you know, easily takes umbrage.
Although my betrothed has ever been amiable, kind, and gracious to me,
still I confess that I fancy she does not love me."
"You are mad, Don Gaëtano. Young girls know not what they like or
dislike. Do not trouble yourself about such a childish thing. I promised
that she shall be your wife, and it shall be so."
"Still, if she loved another, I should not like--"
"What! Really what you say has not common sense. Anita loves no one but
you, I am sure; and stay, would you like to be reassured? You say that
you start for Guetzalli this evening?"
"Yes."
"Very good. Prepare apartments for my daughter and myself. In a few days
we will join you at your hacienda."
"Is it possible?" the count said joyfully.
"Tomorrow at daybreak we will start; so make haste."
"A thousand thanks."
"Come, you are now easier?"
"I am the happiest of mortals."
"All the better."
The two men exchanged a few words further, and separated with renewed
promises of meeting again soon.
Don Sylva, accustomed to command despotically in his establishment, and
to allow no one to discuss his will, told his daughter, through her
waiting maid, that she must prepare for a rather long journey the next
morning, and felt certain of her obedience.
The news was a thunderbolt for the young lady. She sank half fainting
into an easy chair, and melted into tears. It was evident to her that
this journey was only a pretext to separate her from the man she loved,
and place, her a defenceless victim, in the power of the man she
abhorred, and who was to be her husband. The poor child remained thus
for several hours, a prey to violent despair, and not dreaming of
seeking impossible repose; for, in the state in which she found herself,
she knew that sleep would not close her eyes, all swollen with tears,
and red with fever.
Gradually the sounds of the town died away one after the other. All
slept, or seemed to sleep. Don Sylva's house was plunged into complete
darkness; a weak light alone glistened like a star through the young
girl's windows, proving that there at least someone was watching.
At this moment two hesitating shadows were cast on the wall opposite the
hacendero's house. Two men, wrapped in long cloaks, stopped and examined
the dimly lighted window with that attention only found in thieves and
lovers. The two men to whom we allude incontestably belonged to the
latter category.
"Hum!" the first said in a sharp but suppressed voice, "You are certain
of what you assert, Cucharés?"
"As of my eternal salvation, Señor Don Martial," the scamp replied in
the same tone. "The accursed Englishman entered the house while I was
there. Don Sylva appeared on the best terms with the heretic. May his
soul be confounded!"
We may here remark that a few years ago, and possibly even now, in the
eyes of the Mexicans all foreigners were English, no matter the nation
to which they belonged, and consequently heretics. Hence they naturally
ranked, though little suspecting it, with the men whom it is no crime to
kill, but whose assassination is rather looked upon as a meritorious
action. We are bound to add, to the credit of the Mexicans, that
whenever the occasion offered, they killed the English with an ardour
which was a sufficient proof of their piety.
Don Martial continued:--
"On the faith of the Tigrero, this man has twice crossed my path, and I
have spared him; but let him be careful against the third meeting."
"Oh!" Cucharés said, "the reverend Fra Becchico says that a man gains
splendid indulgences by 'cutting' an Englishman. I have not yet had the
luck to come across one, although I owe about eight dead men. I am much
inclined to indulge myself with this one; it would be so much gained."
"On thy life, picaro, let him alone. That man belongs to me."
"Well, we'll not mention it again," he replied, stifling a sigh; "I will
leave him to you. For all that it annoys me, although the niña seems to
detest him cordially."
"Have you any proof of what you say?"
"What better proof than the repugnance she displays so soon as he
appears, and the pallor which then covers her face without any apparent
reason?"
"Ah, I would give a thousand ounces to know what to believe."
"What prevents you? Everybody is asleep--no one will see you. The story
is not high--fifteen feet at the most. I am certain that Doña Anita
would be delighted to have a chat with you."
"Oh, if I could but believe it!" he muttered with hesitation, casting a
side glance at the still lighted window.
"Who knows? Perhaps she is expecting you."
"Silence, you scoundrel!"
"By'r Lady only listen! If what is said be true, the poor child must be
in a perplexity, if not worse: she has probably great need of
assistance."
"What do they say? Come, speak, but be brief."
"A very simple thing--that Doña Anita de Torrés marries within a week
the Englishman, Don Gaëtano."
"You lie villain!" said the Tigrero with badly-restrained wrath. "I know
not what prevents me thrusting down your throat with my dagger the
odious words you have just uttered."
"You would do wrong," the other said, without being in the
least discovered. "I am only an echo that repeats what it hears, nothing
more. You alone in all Guaymas are ignorant of this news. After all,
there is nothing astonishing in that, as you have only returned to town
this day, after an absence of more than a month."
"That is true; but what is to be done?"
"Caray! Follow the advice I give you."
The Tigrero turned another long glance on the window, and let his head
sink with an irresolute air.
"What will she say on seeing me?" he muttered.
"Caramba!" the lepero said in a sarcastic tone, "She will cry, 'You are
welcome, _alma mia!_' It is clear, caray! Don Martial, have you become a
timid child, that a woman's glance can make you tremble? Opportunity has
only three hairs, in love as in war. You must seize her when she
presents herself: if you do not, you run a risk of not meeting her
again."
The Mexican approached the lepero near enough to touch him, and, fixing
his glance on his tiger-cat eyes, said in a low and concentrated voice,--
"Cucharés, I trust in you. You know me. I have often come to your
assistance. Were you to deceive my confidence I would kill you like a
coyote."
The Tigrero pronounced these words with such an accent of dull fury,
that the lepero, who knew the man before whom he was standing, turned
pale in spite of himself, and felt a shudder of terror pass through his
limbs.
"I am devoted to you, Don Martial," he replied in a voice, which he
tried in vain to render firm. "Whatever may happen, count on me. What
must I do?"
"Nothing; but wait, watch, at the least suspicious sound, the first
hostile shadow that appears in the darkness, warn me."
"Count on me. Go to work. I am deaf and dumb, and during your absence I
will watch over you like a son over his father."
"Good!" the Tigrero said.
He drew a few steps nearer, undid the reata fastened round his loins,
and held it in his right hand. Then he raised his eyes, measured the
distance and turning the reata forcibly round his head, hurled it into
Doña Anita's balcony. The running knot caught in an iron hook, and
remained firmly attached.
"Remember!" the Tigrero said, as he turned toward Cucharés.
"Go on," the latter said, as he leaned against the wall and crossed his
legs; "I answer for everything."
Don Martial was satisfied, or feigned to be satisfied, with this
assurance. He seized the reata, and taking a leap, like one of those
panthers he had so often tracked on the prairies, he raised himself by
the strength of his wrists, and speedily reached the balcony. He climbed
over and went up to the window.
Doña Anita was asleep, half reclining in an easy chair. The poor girl,
pale and exhausted, her eyes swollen with tears, had been conquered by
sleep, which never gives up its claim on young and vigorous
constitutions. On her marbled cheeks the tears had traced a long furrow,
which was still humid. Martial surveyed with a tender glance the woman
he loved, though not daring to approach her. Surprised thus during her
sleep, Anita appeared to him even more beautiful; a halo of purity and
candour seemed to surround her, watch over her repose, and render her
holy and unassailable.
After a long and voluptuous contemplation, the Tigrero at length decided
on advancing. The window, which was only leaned to (for the young girl
had not dreamed of falling to sleep, as she had done), opened at the
slightest push. Don Martial took one step, and found himself in the
room. At the sight of this virginal chamber a religious respect fell on
the Tigrero. He felt his heart beat rebelliously; and tottering, mad
with fear and love, he fell on his knees by the side of the being he
adored.
Anita opened her eyes.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, on seeing Don Martial, "Blessed be God, since He
sends you to my assistance!"
The Tigrero surveyed her with moistened eye and panting chest. But
suddenly the girl drew herself up; her memory returned, and with it that
timid modesty innate in all women.
"Begone," she said, recoiling to the extremity of the room, "begone,
caballero! How are you here? Who led you to my room? Answer I command
you."
The Tigrero humbly bowed his head.
"God," he said, in an inarticulate voice, "God alone has conducted me to
your side, señorita, as you yourself said. Oh, pardon me for having
dared to surprise you thus! I have committed a great fault, I am aware;
but a misfortune menaces you--I feel it, I guess it. You are alone,
without support, and I have come to say to you, 'Madam, I am very low,
very unworthy to serve you, but you have need of a firm and devoted
heart. Here I am! Take my blood, take my life. I would be so happy to
die for you!' In the name of Heaven, señora, in the name of what you
love most on earth, do not reject my prayer. My arm, my heart, are
yours: dispose of them."
These words were uttered by the young man in a choking voice, as he
knelt in the middle of the room, his hands clasped, and fixing on Doña
Anita his eyes, into which he had thrown his entire soul.
The hacendero's daughter turned her limpid glance on the young man, and,
without removing her eyes, approached him with short steps, hesitating
and trembling despite herself. When she arrived near him she remained
for a moment undecided. At length she laid her two small, dainty hands
on his shoulders, and placed her gentle face so near his, that the
Tigrero felt on his forehead the freshness of her embalmed breath, while
her long, black, and perfumed tresses gently caressed him.
"It is true, then," she said in a harmonious voice, "you love me then,
Don Martial?"
"Oh!" the young man murmured, almost mad with love at this delicious
contact.
The Mexican girl bent over him still more, and grazing with her rosy
lips the Tigrero's moist brow,--
"Now," she said to him, starting back with the ravishing movement of a
startled fawn, while her brow turned purple with the effort she had made
to overcome her modesty, "now defend me, Don Martial; for in the
presence of God, who sees us and judges us, I am your wife!"
The Tigrero leaped on his feet beneath the corrosive sting of this kiss.
With a radiant brow and sparkling eyes, he seized the girl's arm and
drawing her to the corner of the room, where was a statue of the
Virgin, before which perfumed oil was burning,--
"On your knees, señorita," he said in an inspired voice, and himself
bowed the knee.
The girl obeyed him.
"Holy Mother of Sorrow!" Don Martial went on, "_Nuestra Señora de la
Soledad_! Divine succour of the afflicted, who soundest all hearts! Thou
seest the purity of our souls, the holiness of our love. Before thee I
take for my wife Doña Anita de Torrés. I swear to defend and protect
her, before and against everybody, even if I lose my life in the contest
I commence this day for the happiness of her I love, and who from this
day forth is really my betrothed."
After pronouncing this oath in a firm voice the Tigrero turned to the
maiden.
"It is your turn now, señorita," he said to her.
The girl fervently clasped her hands, and raising her tear-laden eyes to
the holy image,--
"Nuestra Señora de la Soledad," she said in a voice broken with emotion,
"thou, my only protector since the day of my birth, knowest how truly I
am devoted to thee! I swear that all this man has said is the truth. I
take him for my husband in thy sight, and will never have another."
They rose, and Doña Anita led the Tigrero to the balcony.
"Go!" she said to him. "Don Martial's wife must not be suspected. Go, my
husband, my brother! The man to whom they want to deliver me is called
the Count de Lhorailles. Tomorrow at daybreak we leave this place,
probably to join him."
"And he?"
"Started this night."
"Where is he going?"
"I know not."
"I will kill him."
"Farewell, Don Martial, farewell!"
"Farewell, Doña Anita! Take courage: I am watching over you."
And after imprinting a last and chaste kiss on the young girl's pure
brow, he clambered over the balcony, and hanging by the reata, glided
down into the street. The hacendero's daughter unfastened the running
knot, leant out and gazed on the Tigrero as long as she could see him;
then she closed the window.
"Alas, alas!" murmured she, suppressing a sigh, "What have I done? Holy
Virgin, thou alone canst restore me the courage which is deserting me."
She let the curtain fall which veiled the window, and turned to go and
kneel before the Virgin; but suddenly she recoiled, uttering a cry of
terror. Two paces from her Don Sylva was standing with frowning brow and
stern face.
"Doña Anita, my daughter," said he, in a slow and stern voice, "I have
seen and heard everything; spare yourself, then, I beg you, all useless
denial."
"My father!" the poor child stammered in a broken voice.
"Silence!" he continued. "It is three o'clock; we set out at sunrise.
Prepare yourself to marry in a fortnight Don Gaëtano de Lhorailles."
And, without deigning to add a word, he walked out slowly, carefully
closing the door after him.
As soon as she was alone the young girl bent down as if listening,
tottered a few steps forward, raised her hands with a nervous gesture to
her contracted throat--then, pealing forth a piercing cry, fell back on
the floor.
She had fainted.