DON SYLVIO D'ARENAL.
An hour before the bomberos' arrival at the estancia, a visitor had
presented himself, who was eagerly greeted by Don Valentine and his
daughter. This visitor, about eight-and-twenty years of age, and
elegantly built, possessed the manners of a man of distinction, and a
clever, noble face. His name was Don Sylvio d'Arenal, and he belonged
to one of the richest and most respected families in Buenos Aires. The
death of a relative had endowed him with a fortune of 500,000 piastres
a year; that is to say, about one hundred thousand a year--a fortune
large even for this country, where gold is so common.
The family of Don Sylvio and of Don Valentine, both originally from
Spain, and connected by ancient ties, had ever lived on a footing of
the greatest intimacy. The young man and the young lady were educated
together, and hence, when her handsome cousin came to say good-bye
to her, and told her of his departure for Europe, where he was to
travel for some years to complete his education, and assume elegant
manners, Doña Concha, who was at that time twelve years of age, felt a
great vexation. Since their childhood, unconsciously, they loved each
other with the simple gentle affection of youth, which only thinks of
happiness.
Don Sylvio went away, bearing his love with him, and Conchita retained
him in her heart.
Only a few days previously the young man had returned to Buenos Aires,
and after making a tour through the most renowned cities of the
civilized world, hastened to arrange his affairs. Then he freighted a
schooner, and set sail for Carmen, burning with desire to see again the
woman he loved, and whom he had not seen for three years--his Conchita,
the pretty child who, he thought, had, doubtless, become a lovely and
accomplished maiden.
At Carmen he found Don Valentine's house empty, and from the
information he received from _Tío_ Peralta, the old Negro, he rode at
a gallop to the estancia of San Julian. The surprise and joy of Don
Valentine and his daughter were extreme. Conchita was especially happy,
for she thought daily of Sylvio, and saw him through her recollections,
but at the same time she felt in her heart an emotion of mingled
pleasure and sorrow. Sylvio perceived it, understood that he was still
loved, and his happiness equalled that of Doña Concha.
"Come, come, children," the father said with a smile, "kiss each other;
I permit it."
Doña Concha offered Don Sylvia her blushing forehead, which he
respectfully touched with his lips.
"What sort of kiss do you call that?" Don Valentine continued, "come,
come, no hypocrisy! kiss one another openly; hang it all! Do not play
the coquette, Conchita, because you are a pretty girl, and he is a
handsome fellow; and you, Sylvio, who fall here like a bombshell
without notice, do you suppose, if you please, that I had not guessed
for what reason you made a sea voyage of several hundred leagues? Is
it for my sake you have hastened here from Buenos Aires? You love each
other, so kiss like lovers and betrothed people, and if you behave
yourselves you will be married in a few days."
The young folks, affected by these kind words and this merry humour,
fell into the arms of the worthy man, in order to conceal their emotion.
"Children," he said, "the Rubicon is past; indulge your joy at meeting
after so lengthened a separation. It is the last, for you have met
again forever."
"Oh, forever," the young people repeated.
"Let us kill the fatted calf, as the prodigal child has come back. Don
Sylvio, you will remain here, and not return to Carmen, except to be
married. Does that suit you?"
"Yes," said Sylvio, looking amorously at Conchita, "on condition that
it is soon, father."
"That's the way with lovers; they are always eager and impatient.
Everyone in his turn; I was like that and as happy, then our children
take our places, and the happiness of old men is produced by their
happiness."
One of those sweet and intimate conversations then began, in which the
recollections of the past and the certainty of speedy happiness were
blended. They were interrupted by Doña Salazar entering the room. Don
Sylvio proceeded to his apartment, while Concha and her father followed
the old lady to the bomberos.
Don Valentine, surprised and irritated by the unexpected arrival of Don
Torribio Carvajal, resolved to get rid of him, and come to an end with
this mysterious man.
"You did not expect me so soon?" Don Torribio said, as he leapt from
his horse, and bowed to the master of the house.
"I did not expect you at all; the less so because you spoke only
yesterday, if I have a good memory, of a journey."
"That is true," he said with a smile, "but who knows yesterday what
will take place tomorrow? Then you, too," Don Torribio continued, as
he followed Don Valentine to the drawing room, "did not even dream
yesterday of leaving El Carmen."
"Well, as you know, we estancieros are often compelled to go to our
estates suddenly, from one moment to another."
"The same thing happens to me. I am, like you, compelled to live as a
country gentleman for some time."
"Then you are living at your estancia?"
"Yes, we are neighbours, and you will be condemned to my presence,
unless--"
"You will always be welcome."
"You are most polite," said Don Torribio, seating himself in an easy
chair.
"I am afraid, though, that I shall not long enjoy the pleasure of being
your neighbour."
"Why so?"
"It is possible that I may return to Carmen within a week."
"Then you have only paid a passing visit here?"
"Not exactly. I had intended to remain here some months, but, as you
said just now, who knows what the morrow will bring forth?"
The two speakers, like practised duellists, before crossing weapons and
dealing a decisive blow, were feeling each other's strength by quickly
parried feints.
"May I be allowed to pay my respects to Doña Concha?" Don Torribio
asked.
"She will soon be here. Just imagine, my dear neighbour, that through a
concourse of extraordinary circumstances we have just taken charge of
a girl of rare beauty, who has been two years a slave of the Indians,
and whom her brothers brought to me scarce an hour ago, after having
miraculously saved her from the hands of the pagans."
"Ah!" Torribio said, in a choking voice.
"Yes," Don Valentine continued, without noticing the young man's
emotion; "her name is Mercedes, I believe; she appears very gentle; you
know my daughter, she is wild about her already, and at this moment she
is taking off her Indian clothes, and clothing her in a decent fashion."
"Very good; but are you sure that this woman is what she seems to be?
The Indians are villains, as you are aware, and this--"
"Mercedes."
"Mercedes is perhaps an Indian spy."
"For what object?"
"What do I know? Can we trust anybody?"
"You are mistaken, Don Torribio. I can trust the men who brought her to
me."
"Watch her; take my advice."
"But she is a Spaniard."
"That proves nothing. Look at Pincheira; is he not an ex-officer of
the Chilian army? He is now a chief of one of the principal Patagonian
nations, and the most cruel adversary of the Spaniards."
"Pincheira, that is different."
"As you please," said Don Torribio, "I trust that you may be right."
As Don Torribio uttered these words, Doña Concha appeared, accompanied
by Don Sylvio.
"Don Torribio," said the estanciero, "I have the honour to present to
you Don Sylvio d'Arenal."
"I believe," said Torribio, "that I have already had the honour of
meeting this gentleman."
"Nonsense! It cannot have been in America, most certainly, for Don
Sylvio has been away for three years."
"No, Don Valentine; it was in Paris."
"Your memory is faithful, sir," Don Sylvio replied, "we met at the
house of the Marchioness de Lucenay."
"I was not aware of your return to America."
"I only reached Buenos Aires a few days ago; this morning I was at
Carmen, and now I am here."
"Already here!" Don Torribio could not refrain from saying.
"Oh!" Concha's father said, with a marked accent, "This rather hasty
visit was so natural, that my daughter and I heartily pardoned Don
Sylvio."
"Ah!" Don Torribio muttered, to say something, for he understood that
he had a rival before him.
Doña Concha, carelessly reclining on a sofa, anxiously followed the
conversation, while playing with a fan that trembled in her hand.
"I hope, sir," Don Torribio said courteously, "that we shall renew here
the imperfect friendship commenced in Madame de Lucenay's _salons_."
"Unluckily," Don Valentine interrupted, in order to prevent Don
Sylvio answering, "Señor d'Arenal will be unable to accept your kind
invitation, for immediately after his marriage he intends to travel
with his wife, since that is the fashion nowadays."
"His marriage!" Don Torribio said, with perfectly well-played
astonishment.
"Were you ignorant of it?"
"Yes."
"What a careless fellow I am! My happiness makes me lose my head. I am
like these two children, but pray excuse me."
"Sir!"
"Certainly; for are you not one of our best friends? we have no secrets
from you. Don Sylvio d'Arenal is about to marry my daughter; the match
has been arranged for a very long time."
Don Torribio turned pale; a mist passed before his eyes, he felt a
deadly agony in his heart, and thought he was going to die. Doña Concha
curiously followed his secret thoughts upon his face; but, feeling that
all eyes were fixed upon him, the young man made a superhuman effort,
and said to the young lady in a soft voice, and without any apparent
emotion--
"May you be as happy, señorita, as I wish you. The first wish, people
say, is efficacious, so accept mine."
"I thank you, sir," Doña Concha answered, deceived by Don Torribio's
accent.
"As for you, Señor d'Arenal, your happiness will make many men jealous;
for you are taking away the most precious pearl in the rich casket of
the Argentine republic."
"I will strive, señor, to be worthy of her; for I love her so dearly."
"They love one another so dearly," the father said with cruel
simplicity.
The young lovers exchanged a glance full of hope and happiness. Neither
Don Valentine's last remark, nor the look of the betrothed couple,
was left unnoticed by Don Torribio, who though not letting anything
be seen, received this double dagger thrust, and concealed his grief
beneath a smile.
"By Jove, neighbour," the father continued, "you will be present at the
festival of betrothal, and give up your evening to us."
"Impossible, señor; important business calls me to my estancia, and, to
my great regret, I must leave you."
"Still, if my daughter joined with me--"
"If I," Don Sylvio said, "dared--"
"You quite confound me; but, on my honour, I must be gone. The
sacrifice I make at this moment is the more painful to me," he added,
with a sardonic smile, "because happiness generally flies so fast
that it is impossible to catch it up, and it is folly to neglect the
opportunity."
"I fear no misfortune now," said Doña Concha, looking at Don Sylvio.
Carvajal gave her a look full of indefinable meaning, and replied with
a shake of the head.
"I trust you are saying the truth, señorita, but there is a French
proverb."
"What is it?"
"'Twixt cup and the lip there's many a slip.'"
"Oh, the ugly proverb!" Conchita exclaimed, in some embarrassment, "but
I am not a French woman, and hence have nothing to fear."
"That is true."
And Don Torribio, without adding a word, bowed, and left the room.
"Well, my friend," the estanciero said, "what do you think of that man?"
"He has a look deep as an abyss, and his words are bitter; I know not
why, but I feel sure he hates me."
"I hate him too," said Concha, with a shudder.
"Perhaps he loved you, Conchita, for is it possible to see and not love
you?"
"Who assures you that he is not meditating a crime?"
"This time, señorita, you are going too far; he is a gentleman."
"_¿Quién sabe?_" she replied, remembering Don Torribio's words, which
had already caused her a shudder.