MADAM IZABEL
I slept well in my pleasant room, but wakened early, the bright sunshine
pouring in at my open window and the songs of many birds sounding a
lively chorus.
After a simple toilet I sprang through a low window to the ground and
wandered away among the flowers and shrubbery. It was in my thoughts to
revisit the scene of my first meeting with Lesba, but I had no hope of
finding her abroad at that hour until I caught a glimpse of her white
gown through a small arbor. The vision enchanted me, and after pausing a
moment to feast my eyes upon her loveliness, I hastily approached to
find her cutting roses for the breakfast-table. She greeted me in her
shy manner, but in a way that made me feel I was not intruding. After a
few conventional remarks she asked, abruptly:
“How do you like Dom Miguel?”
“Very much,” said I, smiling at her eagerness. “He seems eminently
worthy of the confidence reposed in him by his compatriots.”
“He is a born leader of men,” she rejoined, brightly, “and not a rebel
of us all would hesitate to die for him. How do you like my brother?”
I was sorry she asked the question, for its abruptness nearly took my
breath away, and I did not wish to grieve her. To gain time I laughed,
and was answered with a frown that served to warn me.
“Really, donzella,” I made haste to say, “if I must be quite frank, your
brother puzzles me. But I think I shall like him when I understand him
better.”
She shook her head as if disappointed.
“No one ever understands Francisco but me,” she returned, regretfully.
“Does he understand himself?” I foolishly asked.
The girl looked at me with a gleam of contempt.
“Sir, my brother’s services are recognized throughout all Brazil. Even
Fonseca respects his talents, and the suspicious Piexoto trusts him
implicitly. Francisco’s intimate friends positively adore him! Ah,
senhor, it is not necessary for his sister to sing his praises.”
I bowed gravely.
“Let me hope, donzella, that your brother will soon count me among his
intimates.” It was the least I could say in answer to the pleading look
in her eyes, and to my surprise it seemed to satisfy her, for she
blushed with pleasure.
“I am sure he likes you already,” she announced; “for he told me so as
he bade me good by this morning.”
“Your brother has gone away?”
“He started upon his return to court an hour ago.”
“To court!” I exclaimed, amazed at his audacity.
She seemed amused.
“Did you not know, senhor? Francisco Paola is Dom Pedro’s Minister of
Police.”
I acknowledged that the news surprised me. That the Emperor’s Minister
of Police should be a trusted leader of the Revolutionary party seemed
incomprehensible; but I had already begun to realize that extraordinary
conditions prevailed in Brazil. Perhaps the thing that caused me most
astonishment was that this apparently conceited and empty-headed fellow
had ever been selected for a post so important as Minister of Police.
Yet the fact explained clearly how I had received secret protection from
the moment of my landing at Rio until I had joined Dom Miguel.
The girl was laughing at me now, and her loveliness made me resolve not
to waste more of these precious moments in political discussion. She was
nothing loath to drop the subject, and soon we were chattering merrily
of the flowers and birds, the dewdrops and the sunshine, and all those
inconsequent things that are wont to occupy youthful lips while hearts
beat fast and glances shyly mingle. When, at length, we sauntered up the
path to breakfast I had forgotten the great conspiracy altogether, and
congratulated myself cordially upon the fact that Lesba and I were well
on the way to becoming good friends.
Madam Izabel did not appear at the morning meal, and immediately it was
over Dom Miguel carried me to his study, where he began to acquaint me
thoroughly with the standing and progress of the proposed revolution,
informing me, meantime, of my duties as secretary.
While we were thus occupied the door softly opened and Izabel de Mar
entered.
She cast an odd glance in my direction, bowed coldly to her father, and
then seated herself at a small table littered with papers.
A cloud appeared upon Dom Miguel’s brow. He hesitated an instant, and
then addressed her in a formal tone.
“I shall not need you to-day, Izabel.”
She turned upon him with a fierce gesture.
“The letters to Piexoto are not finished, sir,” she exclaimed.
“I know, Izabel; I know. But Mr. Harcliffe will act as my secretary,
hereafter; therefore he will attend to these details.”
She rose to her feet, her eyes flashing, but her face as immobile as
ever.
“I am discharged?” she demanded.
“Not that, Izabel,” he hastened to reply. “Your services have been of
inestimable value to the Cause. But they are wearing out your strength,
and some of our friends thought you were too closely confined and needed
rest. Moreover, a man, they considered—”
“Enough!” said she, proudly. “To me it is a pleasure to toil in the
cause of freedom. But my services, it seems, are not agreeable to your
leaders—rather, let us say, to that sly and treacherous spy, Francisco
Paola!”
His face grew red, and I imagined he was about to reply angrily; but the
woman silenced him with a wave of her hand.
“O, I know your confidence in the Emperor’s Minister, my father; a
confidence that will lead you all to the hangman, unless you beware! But
why should I speak? I am not trusted, it seems; I, the daughter of de
Pintra, who is chief of the Revolution. This foreigner, whose heart is
cold in our Cause, is to take my place. Very well. I will return to the
court—to my husband.”
“Izabel!”
“Do not fear. I will not betray you. If betrayal comes, look to your
buffoon, the Minister of Police; look to your cold American!”
She pointed at me with so scornful a gesture that involuntarily I
recoiled, for the attack was unexpected. Then my lady stalked from the
room like a veritable queen of tragedy.
Dom Miguel drew a sigh of relief as the door closed, and rubbed his
forehead vigorously with his handkerchief.
“That ordeal is at last over,” he muttered; “and I have dreaded it like
a coward. Listen, senhor! My daughter, whose patriotism is not well
understood, has been suspected by some of my associates. She has a
history, has Izabel—a sad history, my friend.” For a moment Dom Miguel
bowed his face in his hands, and when he raised his head again the look
of pained emotion upon his features lent his swarthy skin a grayish
tinge.
“Years ago she loved a handsome young fellow, one Leon de Mar—of French
descent, who is even now a favorite with the Emperor,” he resumed.
“Against my wishes she married him, and her life at the court proved a
most unhappy one. De Mar is a profligate, a rake, a gamester, and a
scoundrel. He made my daughter suffer all the agonies of hell. But she
uttered no complaint and I knew nothing of her sorrow. At last, unable
to bear longer the scorn and abuse of her husband, Izabel came to me and
confessed the truth, asking me to give her the shelter of a home. That
was years ago, senhor. I made her my secretary, and found her eager to
engage in our patriotic conspiracy. It is my belief that she has neither
seen nor heard from de Mar since; but others have suspected her. It is
hard indeed, Robert, not to be suspicious in this whirlpool of intrigue
wherein we are engulfed. A few weeks ago Paola swore that he found
Izabel in our garden at midnight engaged in secret conversation with
that very husband from whom she had fled. I have no doubt he was
deceived; but he reported it to the Secret Council, which instructed me
to confide no further secrets to my daughter, and to secure a new
secretary as soon as possible. Hence my application to your uncle, and
your timely arrival to assist me.”
He paused, while I sat thoughtfully considering his words.
“I beg that you will not wrong my daughter with hasty suspicions,” he
continued, pleadingly. “I do not wish you to confide our secrets to her,
since I have myself refrained from doing so, out of respect for the
wishes of my associates. But do not misjudge Izabel, my friend. When the
time comes for action she will be found a true and valuable adherent to
the Cause. And now, let us to work!”
I found it by no means difficult to become interested in the details of
the plot to overthrow the Emperor Dom Pedro and establish a Brazilian
Republic. It was amazing how many great names were enrolled in the Cause
and how thoroughly the spirit of freedom had corrupted the royal army,
the court, and even the Emperor’s trusted police. And I learned, with
all this, to develop both admiration and respect for the man whose calm
judgment had so far directed the mighty movement and systematized every
branch of the gigantic conspiracy. Truly, as my fair Lesba had said, Dom
Miguel de Pintra was “a born leader of men.”
Night after night there assembled at his house groups of conspirators
who arrived secretly and departed without even the servants having
knowledge of their visit. During the counsels every approach to the
house was thoroughly guarded to ward against surprise.
Strong men were these republican leaders; alert, bold, vigilant in
serving the Cause wherein they risked their lives and fortunes. One by
one I came to know and admire them, and they spoke freely in my presence
and trusted me. Through my intercourse with these champions of liberty,
my horizon began to broaden, thus better fitting me for my duties.
Francisco Paola, the Emperor’s Minister, came frequently to the
conferences of the Secret Council. Always he seemed as simpering,
frivolous, and absurd as on the day I first met him. To his silly jokes
and inconsequent chatter none paid the slightest attention; but when a
real problem arose and they turned questioningly to Paola, he would
answer in a few lightly spoken words that proved at once shrewd and
convincing. The others were wont to accept his decisions with gravity
and act upon them.
I have said that Paola impressed me as being conceited. This might well
be true in regard to his personal appearance, his social
accomplishments—playing the piano and guitar, singing, riding, and the
like—but I never heard him speak lightly of the Cause or boast of his
connection with it. Indeed, he exhibited a queer mingling of folly and
astuteness. His friends appeared to consider his flippancy and
self-adulation as a mask that effectually concealed his real talents.
Doubtless the Emperor had the same idea when he made the fellow his
Minister of Police. But I, studying the man with fervid interest, found
it difficult to decide whether the folly was a mask, or whether Paola
had two natures—the second a sub-conscious intelligence upon which he
was able to draw in a crisis.
He certainly took no pains to impress any one favorably, and his closest
friends were, I discovered, frequently disgusted by his actions.
From the first my judgment of the man had been influenced by his
sister’s enthusiastic championship. Lesba seemed fully in her brother’s
confidence, and although she was not a recognized member of the
conspiracy, I found that she was thoroughly conversant with every detail
of our progress. This information must certainly have come from
Francisco, and as I relied absolutely upon Lesba’s truth and loyalty,
her belief in her brother impressed me to the extent of discrediting
Madam Izabel’s charge that he was a traitor.
Nevertheless, Paola had acted villainously in thrusting this same charge
upon a woman. What object, I wondered, could he have in accusing Izabel
to her own father, in falsely swearing that he had seen her in
conversation with Leon de Mar—the man from whose ill treatment she had
fled?
Madam Izabel had not returned to the court, as she had threatened in her
indignant anger. Perhaps she realized what it would mean to place
herself again within the power of the husband she had learned to hate
and despise. She still remained an inmate of her father’s mansion, cold
and impassive as ever. Dom Miguel treated her with rare consideration on
every occasion of their meeting, seeking to reassure her as to his
perfect faith in her loyalty and his sorrow that his associates had cast
a slur upon her character.
To me the chief was invariably kind, and his gentleness and stalwart
manhood soon won my esteem. I found myself working for the good of the
cause with as much ardor as the most eager patriot of them all, but my
reward was enjoyed as much in Lesba’s smiles as in the approbation of
Dom Miguel.
That the government was well aware of our plot there was no question.
Through secret channels we learned that even the midnight meetings of
the Secret Council were known to the Emperor. The identity of the
leaders had so far been preserved, since they came masked and cloaked to
the rendezvous, but so many of the details of the conspiracy had in some
way leaked out that I marveled the Emperor’s heavy hand had not
descended upon us long ago. Of course de Pintra was a marked man, but
they dared not arrest him until they had procured all the information
they desired, otherwise they would defeat their own purpose.
One stormy night, as I sat alone with Dom Miguel in his study, I
mentioned my surprise that in view of the government’s information of
our plot we were not summarily arrested. It was not a council night, and
we had been engaged in writing letters.
“I suppose they fear to precipitate trouble between such powerful
factions,” he answered, somewhat wearily. “The head of the conspiracy is
indeed here, but its branches penetrate to every province of the
country, and were an outbreak to occur here the republicans of Brazil
would rise as one man. Dom Pedro, poor soul, does not know where to look
for loyal support. His ministry is estranged, and he is not even sure of
his army.”
“But should they discover who our leaders are, and capture them, there
would be no one to lead the uprising,” I suggested.
“True,” assented the chief. “But it is to guard against such a coup that
our Council is divided into three sections. Only one-third of the
leaders could be captured at any one time. But I do not fear such an
attempt, as every movement at the capital is reported to me at once.”
“Suppose they were to strike you down, sir. What then? Who would carry
out your plans? Where would be the guiding hand?”
For a moment he sat thoughtfully regarding me.
“I hope I shall be spared until I have accomplished my task,” he said,
at length. “I know my danger is great; yet it is not for myself I fear.
Lest the Cause be lost through premature exposure, I have taken care to
guard against that, should the emergency arise. Light me that candle
yonder, Robert, and I will reveal to you one of our most important
secrets.”
He motioned toward the mantel, smiling meantime at my expression of
surprise.
I lighted the candle, as directed, and turned toward him expectantly. He
drew a rug from before the fireplace, and stooping over, touched a
button that released a spring in the flooring.
A square aperture appeared, through which a man might descend, and
peering over his shoulder I saw a flight of stairs reaching far
downward.
De Pintra turned and took the candle from my hand.
“Follow me,” he said.