When Vizcarra reached his sumptuous quarters, the first thing he did was
to call for wine. It was brought, and he drank freely and with fierce
determination.
He thought by that to drown his chagrin; and for a while he succeeded.
There is relief in wine, but it is only temporary: you may make jealousy
drunk and oblivious, but you cannot keep it so. It will be sober as
soon--ay, sooner than yourself. Not all the wine that was ever pressed
from grapes can drown it into a complete oblivion.
Vizcarra's heart was filled by various passions. There was love--that
is, such love as a libertine feels; jealousy; anger at the coarse
handling he had experienced; wounded self-love, for with his gold-lace
and fine plumes he believed himself a conqueror at first sight; and upon
the top of all, bitter disappointment.
This last was the greater that he did not see how his suit could be
renewed. To attempt a similar visit would lead to similar chagrin,--
perhaps worse.
It was plain the girl did not care for him, with all his fine feathers
and exalted position. He saw that she was very different from the
others with whom he had had dealings--different from the dark-eyed
doncellas of the valley, most of whom, if not all, would have taken his
onza without a word or a blush!
It was plain to him he could go no more to the rancho. Where, then, was
he to meet her--to see her? He had ascertained that she seldom came to
the town--never to the amusements, except when her brother was at home.
How and where, then, was he to see her? His was a hopeless case--no
opportunity of mending his first _faux pas_--none, any more than if the
object of his pursuit was shut up in the cloisters of a nunnery!
Hopeless, indeed! Thus ran his reflections.
Though uttering this phrase, he had no belief in its reality. He had no
intention of ending the affair so easily. He--the lady-killer,
Vizcarra--to fail in the conquest of a poor ranchera! He had never
failed, and would not now. His vanity alone would have urged him
farther in the affair; but he had a sufficient incentive to his strong
passion,--for strong it had now grown. The opposition it had met--the
very difficulty of the situation--only stimulated him to greater energy
and earnestness.
Besides, jealousy was there, and that was another spur to his excited
pride.
He was jealous of Don Juan. He had noticed the latter on the day of the
fiesta. He had observed him in the company of the cibolero and his
sister. He saw them talking, drinking, feasting together. He was
jealous _then_; but that was light, for then he still anticipated his
own easy and early triumph. That was quiet to the feeling that tortured
him now--now that _he had failed_--now that he had seen in the very hour
of his humiliation that same rival on his road to the rancho--welcome,
no doubt--to be told of all that had happened--to join her in jeering
laughter at his expense--to--Furies! the thought was intolerable.
For all that the Comandante had no idea of relinquishing his design.
There were still means--foul, if not fair--if he could only think of
them. He wanted some head cooler than his own. Where was Roblado?
"Sergeant! tell Captain Roblado I wish to speak with him."
Captain Roblado was just the man to assist him in any scheme of the
sort. They were equally villains as regarded women; but Vizcarra's
_metier_ was of a lighter sort--more of the genteel-comedy kind. His
forte lay in the seductive process. He made love _a la Don Giovanni_,
and carried hearts in what he deemed a legitimate manner; whereas
Roblado resorted to any means that would lead most directly to the
object--force, if necessary and safe. Of the two Roblado was the
coarser villain.
As the Comandante had failed in his way, he was determined to make trial
of any other his captain might suggest; and since the latter knew all
the "love stratagems," both of civilised and savage life, he was just
the man to suggest something.
It chanced that at this time Roblado wanted counsel himself upon a
somewhat similar subject. He had proposed for Catalina, and Don
Ambrosio had consented; but, to the surprise of all, the Senorita had
rebelled! She did not say she would _not_ accept Captain Roblado. That
would have been too much of a defiance, and might have led to a summary
interference of paternal authority. But she had appealed to Don
Ambrosio for time--she was not ready to be married! Roblado could not
think of time--he was too eager to be rich; but Don Ambrosio had
listened to his daughter's appeal, and there lay the cause of the
captain's trouble.
Perhaps the Comandante's influence with Don Ambrosio might be the means
of overruling this decision and hastening the wished-for nuptials.
Roblado was therefore but too eager to lay his superior under an
obligation.
Roblado having arrived, the Comandante explained his case, detailing
every circumstance that had happened.
"My dear colonel, you did not go properly to work. I am astonished at
that, considering your skill and experience. You dropped like an eagle
upon a dovecot, frightening the birds into their inaccessible holes.
You should not have gone to the rancho at all."
"And how was I to see her?"
"In your own quarters; or elsewhere, as you might have arranged it."
"Impossible!--she would never have consented to come."
"Not by your sending for her direct; I know that."
"And how, then?"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Roblado; "are you so innocent as never to have
heard of such a thing as an `_alcahuete_'?"
"Oh! true--but by my faith I never found use for one."
"No!--you in your fine style have deemed that a superfluity; but you
might find use for one now. A very advantageous character that, I
assure you--saves much time and trouble--diminishes the chances of
failure too. It's not too late. I advise you to try one. If that
fails, you have still another string to your bow."
We shall not follow the conversation of these ruffians further. Enough
to say that it led into details of their atrocious plans, which, for
more than an hour, they sat concocting over their wine, until the whole
scheme was set forth and placed in readiness to be carried out.
It _was_ carried out, in fine, but led to a different ending from what
either anticipated. The "lady" who acted as "alcahuete" soon placed
herself _en rapport_ with Rosita; but her success was more equivocal
than that of Vizcarra himself; in fact, I should rather say unequivocal,
for there was no ambiguity about it.
As soon as her designs were made known to Rosita, the latter
communicated them to her mother; and the scratches which the Comandante
had received were nothing to those which had fallen to the lot of his
proxy. The "alcahuete" had, in fact, to beg for her life before she was
allowed to escape from the terrible Cibolo.
She would have sought legal revenge, but that the nature of her business
made it wiser for her to pocket the indignities, and remain silent.