FATHER SERAPHIN.
Doña Angela had just awakened: a sportive sunbeam, passing indiscreetly
over her charming face, had made her open her eyes. She was lying half
extended in her hammock, with her head supported on her right arm, and
was pensively looking at the swan's-down slipper which she was idly
balancing on her dainty little foot. Violanta, seated at her foot on
a stool, was busily arranging the various articles of her mistress's
toilette. At length Doña Angela shook off her careless languor, and a
smile played on her coral lips.
"Today," she said, as she raised her head coquettishly.
This one word contained the maiden's thoughts, her joy, love,
happiness--her whole life, in fact. She fell back in a reverie, yielding
herself up unconsciously to the delicate and busy services of her
waiting-maid. The sound of a footstep was heard outside, and Doña Angela
raised her head quickly.
"Someone is coming," she said.
Violanta went out, but returned almost immediately.
"Well?"
"Don Cornelio requests permission to say two words to the señorita," the
camarista answered.
The maiden frowned with an air of vexation.
"What can he want again?" she said.
"I do not know."
"That man displeases me singularly."
"I will tell him that you cannot receive him."
"No," she said quickly, "let him enter."
"Why, if he displeases you?"
"I prefer seeing him. I do not know why, but that man almost terrifies
me."
The waiting maid blushed and turned her head away, but recovered almost
immediately.
"Still he is entirely devoted to Don Louis and yourself, señorita."
"Do you think so?" she said, fixing a piercing glance on her.
"Well, I suppose so; his conduct up to the present has been most
honourable."
"Yes," she murmured dreamily. "Still there is something at the bottom
of my heart which tells me that this man hates me. I experience, on
seeing him, an insurmountable feeling of repulsion. This is something
inexplicable to me; but, though everything seems to prove to me that I
am wrong, still, whether right or wrong, there is at times an expression
in his glance which makes me shudder. The only thing a man cannot
disguise is his look, for it is the reflex of his soul, and God has
decreed it so, in order that we may put ourselves on our guard, and
recognise our enemies. But he is doubtlessly tired of waiting. Let him
come in."
Violanta hastened to execute her mistress's orders. Don Cornelio entered
with a smile on his lips.
"Señorita," he said, after a graceful bow, which the maiden returned
without leaving her hammock, "pardon me for daring to trouble your
solitude; but a worthy priest, a French missionary, desires that you
will grant him the favour of a few minutes' interview."
"What is the missionary's name, Señor Don Cornelio?"
"Father Seraphin, I believe, señorita."
"Why does he not address himself to Don Louis?"
"He intended to do so in the first instance."
"Well?"
"But," Don Cornelio continued, "at sunrise Don Louis left the camp,
accompanied by Don Valentine; and though it is now near midday, he has
not yet returned."
"Ah! Where did Don Louis go to at so early an hour?"
"I cannot tell you, señorita. All that I know for certain is, that he
proceeded in the direction of La Magdalena."
"Has anything new occurred?"
"Nothing I am aware of, señorita."
There were a few moments of silence, during which Doña Angela was
reflecting. At length she continued:
"And do you not suspect what this missionary wishes to say to me, Don
Cornelio?"
"In no way, señorita."
"Beg him to come in. I shall be happy to see and converse with him."
Violanta, without giving Don Cornelio time to reply, raised the curtain
that closed the entrance of the jacal.
"Come in, my father," she said.
The missionary appeared. Doña Angela greeted him respectfully, and
pointed to a chair.
"You wish to speak with me, my father?" she said.
"Yes, madam," he replied with a bow.
"I am ready to listen to you."
The missionary looked round in a way that Don Cornelio and the waiting
maid understood, for they went out at once.
"Cannot what you have to say to me be heard by that girl, who is devoted
to me?"
"Heaven forbid, madam, that I should try to lessen the confidence you
place in that person, but allow me to give you a little piece of advice."
"Pray do so."
"It is often dangerous to confide your secret thoughts to persons in a
lower station than yourself."
"Yes, that may be true in theory, my father, but I will not discuss it.
Be kind enough to explain to me the reason of your visit."
"I am grieved, madam, at having hurt your feelings without wishing it.
Pardon an observation which you considered indiscreet, and may Heaven
grant that I am deceived!"
"No, my father, no; I did not consider your remark indiscreet. But I am
a spoiled child, and it is my place to ask your forgiveness."
At this moment the sound of horses was heard in the camp. Violanta
raised the curtain.
"Don Louis has arrived," she said.
"Let him come hither at once," Doña Angela exclaimed.
The missionary gazed on her with an expression of gentle pity. A few
minutes later Don Louis and Valentine entered the jacal. The hunter
walked up to the missionary, and pressed his hand affectionately.
"Have you come from the general, my father?" the count asked him quickly.
"Alas, no!" he answered. "The general is unaware of my coming; for had
he known of it, he would probably have tried to oppose it."
"What do you mean? Speak, in Heaven's name!"
"Alas! I am about to redouble your agony and your sorrow. General
Guerrero never intended to bestow on you this lady's hand. I cannot tell
you what I have seen or heard, for my office forbids it; but I am a
Frenchman, sir--that is to say, your fellow countryman--and I believe
my duty orders me to warn you that treachery surrounds you on all sides,
and that the general is trying to lull your vigilance by fallacious
promises, in order to surprise you and finish with you."
Don Louis let his head sink on his chest.
"In that case, sir," he said presently, "with what object have you come
here?"
"I will tell you. The general wishes to get back his daughter, and, to
effect that, all means will be good. Permit me to draw your attention to
the fact that, under present circumstances, the lady's presence here is
not only a danger for you, but also an ineffaceable stain on her honour."
"Sir!" the count exclaimed.
"Deign to listen to me," the missionary continued coldly. "I do not
doubt either your honour or the lady's; but you have no power, to my
knowledge, to impose silence on your enemies, and stop the immense flood
of calumny they pour out on you and her. Unhappily your conduct seems to
justify them."
"But what is to be done? What means shall I employ?"
"There is one."
"Speak, my father."
"This is what I propose. You intend to marry this lady?"
"Certainly; you know that is my dearest wish."
"Let me finish. The marriage must not be celebrated here; for such a
ceremony, performed in the midst of a camp of adventurers, without
witnesses, would seem a mockery."
"But----"
"It must take place in a city, in the presence of the entire population,
in the broad sunshine, to the sound of the bells and cannon, which,
traversing the air, will tell all that the marriage has really taken
place."
"Yes," Valentine remarked, "Father Seraphin is right; for then Doña
Angela will no longer marry a pirate, but a conqueror, with whom terms
must be made. She will not be the wife of an adventurer, but of the
liberator of Sonora, and those who blame her today will be the first to
sing her praises."
"Yes, yes, that is true!" the maiden cried with fire. "I thank you, my
father, for coming. My duty is laid down: I will accomplish it. Who will
dare to attack the reputation of her who has married the saviour of her
country?"
"Still," the count remarked, "this is only a palliative, after all.
The marriage cannot take place yet. A fortnight, perhaps a month, will
elapse ere I have rendered myself master of a city. Till then Doña
Angela must remain in the camp where she has hitherto been."
All eyes were anxiously turned to the missionary.
"No," he said, "if the young lady will allow me to offer her a shelter."
"A shelter!" she said with an inquiring glance.
"Very simple and most unworthy to receive her, doubtlessly," he
continued, "but where at least she will be in safety, in the midst of a
family of honourable and good persons, to whom it will be a delight to
receive her."
"Is the shelter you offer me, my father, very far from here?" the maiden
asked quickly.
"Twenty-five leagues at the most, in the direction in which the French
expedition must proceed on its march into Sonora."
Doña Angela gave a cunning smile at having been so well understood by
the good priest.
"Listen, my father," she said with that resolution which was one of the
principal features of her character. "Your reputation reached me long
ago, and I know that you are a holy man. Even if I did not know you,
the friendship and respect Don Valentine professes for you would be to
me a sufficient guarantee. I trust myself in your hands. I understand
how unsuitable my presence in the camp now, at any rate, is. Take me
wherever you please. I am ready to follow you."
"My child," the missionary said with charming unction, "it is God who
inspires this determination. The grief you will feel at a separation of
a few days at the most will double the happiness of a reunion which no
one will dare any longer to oppose--which will not only raise you again
in the public opinion, which it is always precious to preserve, but
also give your reputation a lustre which it will be hopeless to try and
tarnish."
"Go, then, as it must be so, Doña Angela," the count said. "I intrust
you to this good padre; but I swear that a fortnight shall not elapse
ere we are again together."
"I hold your promise, Don Louis; it will help me to endure with greater
courage the agony of absence."
"When do you expect to start?" Valentine asked.
"Now," the maiden exclaimed. "As the separation is inevitable, let us
get over it at once."
"Well spoken," Valentine said. "By Jove! I return to what I said before,
Doña Angela--you are a strong and nobly courageous woman; and, by
heavens, I love you as a sister!"
Doña Angela could not refrain from smiling at the hunter's enthusiasm.
The latter continued:--
"Hang it! But we did not think of that; you will need an escort----"
"For what?" the priest asked simply.
"By Jove! you are really delightful. Why, to protect you against the
enemy's marauders."
"My friend, the respect of everybody we meet will be worth more to us
than an escort, which is often compromising."
"For you, I grants but, my father, you do not remember that you will
travel with two females who must be immediately recognised."
"That is true," he said simply; "I did not think of it."
"What is to be done, then?"
Doña Angela began laughing.
"Gentlemen, you are really troubled by a very trifling matter. The good
father said an instant back, that the gown is the best safeguard, for
friend and foe will respect it under all circumstances."
"That is true," the missionary said in confirmation.
"Well, it is extremely simple. If Father Seraphin has no objection,
my waiting maid and myself will put on novices' robes, under which it
will be easy for us to disguise ourselves so cleverly that no one can
recognise us."
Father Seraphin seemed to be reflecting profoundly for a few moments.
"I see no serious obstacles to this disguisement," he at length
observed: "under the circumstances it is permissible, as it will serve a
good object."
"But where shall we find monks' robes?" the count objected, half
seriously, half laughing. "I must confess that my camp is completely out
of them."
"I will take that on myself," Valentine said. "I will send to La
Magdalena a safe man, who can bring them back within an hour: during
that time Doña Angela will complete her preparations for departure."
No one made any objection, and the maiden was left alone. Less than an
hour after, Doña Angela and Violanta, dressed in monks' robes which Don
Cornelio had purchased in the village, and with their faces concealed
under broad-brimmed hats, mounted their horses, and, after bidding a
warm farewell to their companions, they left the camp, accompanied by
Father Seraphin. On separating, Violanta and Don Cornelio exchanged a
secret glance, which would have given the count and Valentine matter for
serious thought, could they have seen it.
"I am not easy in my mind," Don Louis muttered, shaking his head sadly.
"A priest is a very weak escort in the present times."
"Reassure yourself," Valentine answered; "I have provided for that."
"Oh! you always think of everything, brother."
"Is it not my duty? Now let us attend to ourselves. The night will
soon fall, and we must take our precautions not to let ourselves be
surprised."
"You know that, with the exception of the few words you told me through
Curumilla, I am completely ignorant of the details of this affair."
"They would be too long to give you at the present moment, brother, for
we have hardly the requisite time for action."
"Have you any plan?"
"Certainly. If it succeed, the people who hope to surprise us will be
awfully taken in."
"On my word, I trust to you with the greater pleasure because we have
been a long time already at La Magdalena, and I wish to begin my forward
march seriously."
"Very good. Can you spare me fifty adventurers?"
"Take as many as you like."
"I only want fifty resolute men accustomed to desert warfare. For that
purpose I shall take Captain de Laville, and recommend him to select
from among the men he brought with him from Guetzalli the boldest and
most clever."
"Do so, my friend. As for myself, I will carefully watch over the camp,
and double the patrols."
"That precaution can do no harm. So now good-by till tomorrow."
"Farewell!"
They separated, and Don Louis returned to his tent.
At the moment Valentine reached Captain de Laville's jacal he saw Don
Cornelio quitting the camp with an indifferent air, and mechanically
looked after him. In a moment he lost him out of sight behind a clump
of trees, but all at once saw him reappear but mounted this time, and
setting off full gallop in the direction of the pueblo.
"Eh, eh?" Valentine muttered with a thoughtful air. "What can Don
Cornelio have to do in such haste at La Magdalena? I will ask him."
And he entered the jacal, where he found the captain, with whom he
immediately began discussing the plan he had formed to foil the intended
surprise on the part of the Mexicans. As we shall see this plan carried
out presently, we will say nothing about it here, but go and rejoin
Father Seraphin and Doña Angela.