CÆSAR.
A month after the events we have related, two men, seated side by
side in a clump of nopals, were conversing earnestly whilst admiring
a magnificent sunrise. These two men were Valentine Guillois and the
Count de Prébois-Crancé. The Frenchmen were watching this reawakening
of nature.
The count, rendered uneasy by the obstinate silence which Valentine
preserved, at length spoke.
"When you awoke me an hour ago," he said, "you brought me hither, in
order, as you said, that we might talk at our ease, and I followed
you without an observation. Well, we have been seated in this grove
for twenty minutes, and you have not even begun to explain yourself;
your silence makes me very uneasy, brother, and I do not know what to
attribute it to. Have you any ill news to announce to me?"
Valentine raised his head quickly.
"Pardon me, Louis," he replied, "I have no ill news to announce to you,
but the hour for a thorough explanation between us has arrived."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You will soon understand me. When, about a year ago, reduced to
despair, and resolved to take refuge in death, you summoned me to
your apartments in the Champs-Élysées, I pledged myself, if you would
consent to live, to restore you that which you had lost, not by your
own fault, but through your inexperience; you placed faith in me; you
unhesitatingly abandoned France, you bade farewell for ever to the life
of a gentleman, and you resolutely accompanied me to America. Now it is
for me to perform, in my turn, the promise made you--"
"Valentine!"
"Listen to me; you love Doña Rosario, and I am certain that on her part
she feels for you a true and profound affection; the services we have
rendered her father, authorise us to have an explanation with him,
which I am convinced he expects, and the result of which must render
you happy for ever. This explanation, which I would not risk without
speaking to you first, I will have this morning, and speak frankly to
Don Tadeo."
A melancholy smile flitted across the young man's lips, and he let his
head sink on his breast without replying.
"What is the matter with you?" Valentine cried anxiously; "Why is it
that this determination, which is to fulfil all your wishes, plunges
you into such grief? Explain yourself, Louis!"
"What good will it do to explain myself? Why should we speak today to
Don Tadeo? What hurry is there?" the young man remarked evasively.
Valentine shook his head, looking at him with astonishment; he could
not comprehend his friend's conduct at all; he, however, determined to
drive him into his last entrenchments.
"Well, this is the reason why: I wish to assure your happiness as soon
as possible," he said. "The life I have been leading for a month past
in this hacienda is oppressive to me. Since my arrival in America my
character has changed: the sight of great forests, lofty mountains,
in short, of all the sublime magnificence which God has spread with
a bountiful hand in the desert, has developed the instincts of a
traveller, the germ of which I carried at the bottom of my heart; the
constantly recurring changes of the adventurous life which I have led
for some time, cause me to experience pleasures without bounds: in a
word, I have become a passionate wood ranger, and I pant for the moment
when I shall be permitted to resume my aimless rambles in the desert."
A silence of some minutes ensued.
"Yes," the count murmured at length, "that life is indeed full of
charms----"
"That is why I am so eager to launch again into these scenes of
excitement."
"What prevents our resuming them?"
"What! why you, pardieu!"
"You are mistaken, brother. I am weary as you can be of the life we are
leading; we will depart as soon as you please."
"That is not my meaning; be frank with me: it is impossible that the
ardent love you felt for Doña Rosario could have evaporated thus all at
once."
"What makes you think I do not love her?"
"Come!--come!" Valentine replied, "let us have an end of all this; if
you love Doña Rosario, why do you want to leave this place, and why do
you refuse to marry her?"
"It is not I who refuse," the young man murmured with a sigh, "it is
she!"
"She! no--no! come! that is not possible!"
"Brother, a long time ago, the very next day after the night when
at Santiago we delivered her from the hands of the bandits who were
carrying her off, she herself told me that we never could be united.
She ordered me to avoid her presence, and demanded my word of honour
that I would never seek to see her again. Why, then, should I lull
myself with a wild chimera! You see, brother, I have no hope left."
"Perhaps!--but so many things have taken place since that period that
the intentions of Doña Rosario may have changed."
"No," the count replied, despondingly.
"What makes you suppose so?"
"Her coolness--her indifference to me; the care she takes to avoid me;
everything, in short, proves that I have remained here too long, and
that I ought to leave her dangerous society."
"Why do not you have an explanation with her?"
"I have sworn, and whatever it costs I will accomplish my vow."
Valentine hung his head, but made no reply.
"I implore you!" the count resumed, "let us remain no longer here; the
sight of her I love increases my anguish."
"Have you reflected seriously upon this?"
"Oh, yes!" the young man replied, with an air of real or forced
resolution.
"Well," said Valentine, shaking his head, "if such is your will, so it
must be; we will begone, then!"
"Yes, and as soon as possible; do not you think so?" the young man
said, with an involuntary sigh.
"Oh! this very day; I am only waiting for Curumilla, whom I have
requested to go and procure horses. As soon as he returns we will start.
"And we will return to the toldería of the tribe of the Great Hare,
where we can live happily."
"That is a good idea; in that way our existence will not be a useless
one, since we can contribute to the happiness of those around us. And
who knows?" Valentine added, smiling--"we may perhaps, become great
warriors in Araucania."
Louis's only reply to this pleasantry was a sigh, which did not escape
the notice of his friend.
"Oh!" Valentine murmured, "he must and shall be happy in spite of
himself."
Curumilla and Trangoil-Lanec appeared in the distance amidst a cloud of
dust, galloping towards the hacienda with several horses. The two young
men rose to go and meet them.
Scarcely had they left the little grove when Doña Rosario put aside
some low branches and came out. She paused thoughtfully for a minute,
looking after the two Frenchmen, who were walking away sad and
gloomy; then suddenly raising her head with a saucy air, her blue eye
brightened, a smile stole over her lips, and she murmured with a pretty
nod of her head--
"Hum! ah!--we shall see!"
Then she returned to the hacienda, bounding along like a frightened
antelope.
Every morning at eight o'clock, in Spanish-American countries, the
bells ring, to assemble at the same table the inhabitants of the
hacienda--rom the owner who sits in the centre to the humblest peon who
places himself modestly at the lower end. The breakfast is the hour
chosen to meet each other and to pay the compliments of the morning,
previous to commencing the rough labours of the day.
At the first stroke of eight Don Tadeo descended to the hall and stood
before the table, his daughter being on his right hand. He saluted with
a smile or a friendly word every one of the persons employed on the
farm as they entered.
The two Frenchmen came in last. After cordially shaking hands with
them, Don Tadeo assured himself by a glance that no one was wanting at
the meeting, took off his hat, in which he was imitated by all present,
and slowly and solemnly pronounced the blessing. At a wave of his hand
all took their places.
The repast was short; it lasted little more than a quarter of an
hour. The peons then returned to their labours under the order of the
major-domo, and Don Tadeo desired the maté to be served.
No one remained in the hall but Don Tadeo, his daughter, the foster
brothers, the two Indian chiefs, and Cæsar--if it be permissible to
reckon a dog as company; the noble animal was crouched at the feet of
Doña Rosario.
In a few minutes the maté had made its round on the company, and, yet
without any apparent cause, a painful silence prevailed.
Don Tadeo was thoughtful; Doña Rosario was twisting her taper,
rose-tipped fingers in the long silky ears of the dog, who had placed
his great head upon her knees, with his large, intelligent eyes fixed
upon her face.
The count and his foster brother were anxious, and yet afraid to
open the subject that weighed upon their hearts; at length, however,
Valentine became tired of this false position, and resolutely began.
"Well," he said, "what reply do you mean to make to Don Gregorio
Peralta, Don Tadeo?"
"What I told you, my friend," said Don Tadeo, turning towards him.
"Chili, henceforward liberated from the man who was dragging the
country to destruction, no longer stands in need of me. I am determined
to trouble myself no longer with politics. I have long enough devoted
my life to the ungrateful labours I imposed upon myself to secure the
independence of my country, and deliver it from the ambitious man who
wished to enslave it. I have accomplished my task; the hour of repose
has struck for me. I peremptorily refuse the presidency which Don
Gregorio offers me in the name of the people, and will devote myself
entirely to the happiness of my daughter."
"I cannot blame your resolution; it is noble and beautiful, Don Tadeo;
it is Worthy of you," the count replied.
"And do you mean to send off this answer soon?" said Valentine.
"In a few minutes; but why do you ask me that question, pray?"
"Because," Valentine replied, "my friend and I will undertake, if you
please, to convey it."
Don Tadeo opened his eyes with astonishment.
"How so?" he cried, "What do you mean by that? Can you think of leaving
us?"
A melancholy smile played for a moment round the young man's lips; the
ice was broken; the sacrifice must be bravely made, and he did not
hesitate.
"Heaven is my witness," he said, shaking his head, "that it would be my
most ardent wish to remain here."
"Yes," the count interrupted, taking, in spite of himself, a furtive
glance at Rosario, who appeared to have no interest in what was
passing; "yes, we have too long forgotten ourselves in your charming
retreat. This delightful life enervates us; if we do not hasten to tear
ourselves from it, we shall soon find it impossible to do so."
"You must leave us!" Don Tadeo repeated, whose countenance became
cloudy, and his eyebrows contracted; "and what for?"
"Do you not know?" Louis replied, who took courage from the apparent
carelessness of Rosario, "that when for the first time we had the good
fortune to meet with you----"
"Good fortune for me!" Don Tadeo interrupted, warmly.
"Be it so!" said Valentine, striking in to assist his friend; "we were
then in search of fortune. Well, and now," he continued, gaily, "thanks
to Heaven that our assistance is no longer necessary to you, we are not
willing to abuse your kind hospitality any longer."
"What does this mean?" Don Tadeo exclaimed, rising. "What do you call
abusing my hospitality? Why do you employ such futile pretexts with me?"
"We must go!" the young man repeated, coldly.
"Oh! I cannot believe it is the thirst for gold which urges you to
leave me. Your heart is too noble for that odious passion to gain
possession of it."
"Don Tadeo, you do us but justice," the count replied; "it is not the
thirst for gold which actuates us, for our intention on leaving you is
to retire among the Aucas Indians."
Don Tadeo looked perfectly astonished.
"Do not form a bad opinion of us," the young man continued; "be assured
that if a powerful motive did not oblige us to depart, I, at least,
should be most happy to remain with you."
Don Tadeo walked up and down the hall in great agitation.
"Can you not tell me the motive you speak of," he said in an
affectionate tone.
The young lady turned her head imperceptibly.
"I cannot!" Louis murmured, bowing his head.
Rosario shrugged her shoulders with an air of disappointment.
"Very well, caballero," Don Tadeo replied, with cold dignity; "you
and your friend are free to act as to you seems best. Pardon me the
questions I have put to you, but your resolution, which I in vain
endeavour to account for, has destroyed past recovery a cherished hope,
which I should have been most happy to have seen realised. Here is my
letter to Don Gregorio Peralta; when do you wish to set out?"
"This very instant!" the count replied; "my friend and I intended to
bid you farewell immediately after breakfast."
"Yes," Valentine continued, who perceived that his foster brother,
overcome by his feelings, could not say any more; "we beg you to accept
our thanks for the friendship you have deigned to display towards us,
and to assure you that the remembrance of you will live in the bottom
of our hearts."
"Farewell, then!" Don Tadeo said, with great emotion. "God grant that
you may find elsewhere the happiness that awaited you here."
Valentine bowed without replying; his tears choked his utterance.
"Adieu, señorita!" murmured the count, in a tremulous low voice; "may
you be happy?"
She made no reply: deeply wounded, he turned away quickly, and strode
towards the door. In spite of all their resolution, when on the point
of going out, the young men cast one look behind them, to salute for
the last time persons who were so dear to them, and whom they were
abandoning for ever. Don Tadeo stood motionless in the same place,
apparently still as much surprised as hurt. Doña Rosario continued
playing mechanically with the ears of the dog.
"Cæsar!" shouted Valentine.
At the voice of his master, the Newfoundland dog disengaged himself
quickly from the arms of the young girl, and bounded to his side.
"Cæsar!" Rosario murmured faintly.
And then, in spite of the signs and orders of his master, the animal
laid itself down at her feet.
With a bursting heart, the count made a violent effort, and sprang
towards the door.
"Louis!" Rosario cried. "Louis, you have sworn never to be separated
from Cæsar."
Louis staggered, as if struck by lightning; a glow of inexpressible joy
lit up his face; he let the letter fall, and gently thrust forward by
Valentine, fell at the feet of the lovely and now smiling girl.
"My father!" Rosario implored, throwing her arm round his neck, "I well
knew that he loved me."
Valentine felt an acute pang mixed with an immense joy at this
denouement.
"It is I," he said, picking up the letter with a smile, of which none
but such a man is capable, "who must carry the answer."
"Oh, no!" Doña Rosario said, with a playful pout, "You will not leave
us, my friend; are you not the dearly beloved brother of my Louis? Oh,
we will not let you go!"
Valentine kissed the hand extended to him, and secretly wiped away a
tear, but he made no reply.
The day passed away rapidly and happily for all; when night was come--
"Farewell, brother!" said Valentine, with deep emotion. "Thank Heaven,
you are henceforth sheltered from all misfortune."
The count looked at him anxiously.
"Brother," he said, "are you unhappy?"
"Who, I?" said Valentine, endeavouring to smile, "I never was so happy
in my life!"
After embracing the count, who gave way to him, though astonished at
the sudden appearance of grief in such a man, he strode away. Louis
watched him depart, saying to himself--
"What can be the matter with him? Oh, tomorrow he shall explain
himself!"
But on the morrow Valentine had disappeared.
He also loved Doña Rosario.
The young people waited for him a long time. At length, three months
after his departure, when all hopes of his return had completely
vanished, the Count de Prébois-Crancé married Doña Rosario. But
Valentine was wanting.
* * * * *
Those of our readers who have taken an interest in Valentine, and we
hope that they are numerous, will find his further adventures recorded
in the "TIGER-SLAYER."
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Pearl of the Andes, by Gustave Aimard