"Then," interrupted the abbess, "why did he carry her off?"
"Why, you say?"
"Yes."
"Because he believed that she possessed the secret that he wished to discover; that, Madame, was the only motive for the crime."
"What you tell me is infamous, Señor," cried the abbess; "this man was a demon."
"No, Madame, he was a wretch devoured by the thirst for riches, and who, at any price, determined to possess them, even if to do so he had to bring dishonour and shame into a family, or to walk over a heap of corpses."
"Oh!" she gasped, hiding her head in her hands.
"Now, Madame, do you wish to know the name of this man?" he pursued, with bitterness; "But it is needless, is it not? For you have already guessed, no doubt."
The abbess nodded her head affirmatively, without answering.
There was rather a long silence.
"But why render the innocent," at last said the abbess, "responsible for the crimes committed by others?"
"Because, Madame an inheritor of the paternal hatred for twenty years it is only a fortnight ago that I have again found a trace that I thought was lost forever; that the name of our enemy has, like a thunderclap, suddenly burst on my ear, and that I have demanded of this man a reckoning in blood for the honour of my family."
"So to satisfy a vengeance which might be just, were it brought to bear on the guilty, you would be cruel enough "
"I do not yet know what I shall do, Madame. My head is on fire; fury carries me away," interrupted he, with violence. "This man has stolen our happiness; I wish to take away his; but I shall not be a coward, as he has been; he shall know from whence comes the blow which strikes him; it is between us a war of wild beasts."
At this moment the door of the adjoining room opened suddenly, and the marchioness appeared calm and imposing.
"A war of wild beasts let it be, caballero; I accept it."
The young man rose abruptly, and darting a look of crushing scorn at the superior:
"Ah! I have been listened to," said he, with irony; "well, so much the better, I prefer it to be so. This unworthy treachery precludes any further explanation; you know, Madame, the cause of the hatred that I bear towards your husband; I have nothing more to tell you."
"My husband is a noble caballero, who, if he were present, would wither, by his denial as I do myself the odious tissue of lies by which you have not scrupled to accuse him before a person," added she, directing a look of sorrowful pity to the superior, "who would not, perhaps, have believed this frightful tale, the falsity of which is too easy to prove for it to be necessary to refute it."
"Be it so, Madame; this insult, coming from you, cannot affect me; you are naturally the last person to whom your husband would have confided this horrible secret; but whatever happens, a time will come and it is near, I hope when the truth will be declared, and when the criminal will be unmasked before you."
"There are men, Señor, whom calumny, however skilfully concocted, cannot reach," answered she, with scorn.
"Let us cease this, Madame; all discussion between us would only serve the more to embitter us against each other. I repeat that I am not your enemy."
"But what are you then, and for what reason have you related this horrible story?"
"If you had had the patience to listen to me a few minutes more, Madame, you would have learned."
"What prevents you telling me, now that we are face to face?"
"I will tell you if you desire it, Madame," replied, he, coldly. "I should have preferred, however, that some other person, who might have more sympathy for you than I have, should perform this task."
"No, no, Sir; I am myself a Portuguese also, and when the honour of my name is concerned, my principle is to act for myself."
"As you please, Madame; I was about to make a proposition to you."
"A proposition to me!" said she, haughtily.
"Yes, Madame."
"What is it? Be brief, if you please."
"I was about to ask you to give me your word not to quit this town without my authority, and not to try and communicate with your husband."
"Ah! And if I had made this promise?"
"Then, Madame, I should, in return, have freed you from the accusation which weighs upon you, and should immediately have obtained your liberty."
"Liberty to be a prisoner in a town, instead of in a convent," said she, with irony; "you are generous, Señor. But you would not have had to appear before a counsel of war."
"That is true; I forgot that you and yours make war on women especially on women you are so brave, you revolutionary gentlemen." The young man was unmoved by this bitter insult; he bowed respectfully.
"I wait your answer, Madame," said he.
"What answer?" she replied, with disdain.
"That which you will be pleased to make to the proposition which I have the honour to make."
The marchioness remained a moment silent; then, raising her head, and taking a step in advance
"Caballero," she resumed, in a haughty voice, "to accept the proposition you make me, would be to admit the possibility of the truth of the odious accusation that you dare to bring against my husband. Now, that possibility I do not allow. The honour of my husband is mine; it is my duty to defend it."
"I expected that answer, Madame, although it afflicts me more than you can suppose. You have, no doubt, well reflected on all the consequences of this refusal?"
"On all yes, Señor."
"They may be terrible."
"I know it, and I shall submit."
"You are not alone, Madame; you have a daughter."
"Sir," she answered, with an accent of supreme hauteur, "my daughter knows too well what she owes to the honour of her house to hesitate in making for it, if need be, the sacrifice of her life."
"Oh, Madame!"
"Do not try to frighten me, Señor; you will not succeed. My determination is taken, and I should not change it, even if I saw the scaffold before me. Men deceive themselves, if they think they alone possess the privilege of courage. It is good, from time to time, for a woman to show them that they also know how to die for their convictions. A truce, then, I beg you, to any more entreaties, Señor; they would be useless."
The Montonero bowed silently, made a few steps towards the door, stopped, and half turned as if he wished to speak; but, altering his mind, he bowed a last time and went out.
The marchioness remained an instant motionless; then, turning towards the abbess, and extending her arms to her
"And now, my friend," said she to her, with a sorrowful voice, "do you believe that the Marquis de Castelmelhor is guilty of the frightful crimes of which that man accuses him?"
"Oh, no, no, my friend," cried the superior, melting into tears, and falling into the arms which opened to receive her.
CHAPTER V
THE PREPARATIONS OF TYRO
The painter's rencontre, on his leaving the convent, had struck him with a sad presentiment as to his protégés.
Without being able quite clearly to account for the sentiments he entertained for them, however unfortunate himself, he felt himself constrained to aid and succour by all means in his power, the women who, without knowing him, had so frankly claimed his protection.
His self-love first as a man, and then as a Frenchman was flattered at the part which he thus found himself called on to play unawares in this sombre and mysterious affair, the whole of which, notwithstanding the confidence of the marchioness, he much doubted whether they had revealed to him.
But what mattered that?
But what mattered that?
Placed by chance or rather by bad fortune which so furiously pursued him, in an almost desperate situation, the risks that he had to run in succouring these two ladies, did not much aggravate that situation; whereas, if he succeeded in enabling them to escape the fate which threatened them, while he saved himself, he would bring to bear on his persecutors a little warlike strategy in showing himself more keen than they, and would once for all avenge the continual apprehensions they had caused him since his arrival at San Miguel.
These reflections, in bringing back calmness to the young man's mind, gave him back also his careless gaiety, and it was with a quick and deliberate step that he rejoined Tyro at the spot which the latter had assigned as a permanent rendezvous.
The place was well chosen; it was a natural grotto, not very deep, situated at two pistol shots or so from the town, so well concealed from curious eyes by the chaos of rocks, and of thickets of parasitic plants, that, unless the exact position of this grotto were known, it was impossible to discover it so much the more, as its mouth opened onto the river, and that to enter it, it was necessary to go into the water up to the knees. Tyro, half lying on a mass of dry leaves, covered with two or three Araucanian pellones3 and ponchos, was carelessly smoking a cigarette of maize straw, while he waited for his master.
The latter, after being assured that no one was watching him, removed his shoes, tucked up his trousers, went into the water, and entered the grotto not, however, without having whistled two separate times, in order to warn the Indian of his arrival.
"Ouf!" said he, as he entered the grotto, "A singular fashion this of coming into one's house. Here am I returned, Tyro."
"I see, master," gravely answered the Indian, without changing his position.
"Now," pursued the young man, "let me resume my clothes, and then we can talk. I have much to tell you."
"And I also, master."
"Ah!" said he, looking at him.
"Yes; but first change your clothes."
"That's right," resumed the young man.
He immediately proceeded to abandon his disguise, and soon he had recovered his ordinary appearance.
"There that's done," said he, sitting near the Indian, and lighting a cigarette. "I can tell you that this disgusting costume annoys me horribly, and I shall be happy when I shall be able to get rid of it altogether."
"That will be soon, I hope, master."
"And I also, my friend. God grant that we have not deceived ourselves! Now, what have you to tell me? Speak, I am listening."
"But you have you not told me you have news?"
"That is true; but I am anxious to know what you have to tell me. I believe it is more important than what I have to tell you. So, speak first; my communication will come soon enough."
"As you please, master," answered the Indian, settling himself, and throwing away his cigarette, which began to burn his fingers; then, half turning his head towards the young man, and looking him full in the face
"Are you brave?" he asked.
This question, put so suddenly unawares, caused such a profound surprise to the painter, that he hesitated an instant.
"Well," he at last answered, "I believe so then, collecting himself by degrees," he added, with a slight smile. "Besides, my good Tyro, bravery is in France so common a virtue, that there is no conceit on my part in asserting that I possess it."
"Good!" murmured the Indian, who caught his idea, "You are brave, master; and so am I, I believe; I have seen you in several circumstances conduct yourself very well."
"Then why ask me this question?" said the painter, with some slight annoyance.
"Do not be angry, master," quickly replied the Indian, "my intentions are good. When a serious expedition is commenced, and when we wish to bring it to a good conclusion, it is necessary to calculate all the chances. You are a Frenchman that is to say, a foreigner, not long in this country, of the customs of which you are completely ignorant."
"I admit that," interrupted the young man.
"You find yourself on an unknown territory, which, at every moment must be a mystery to you. In asking you, then, if you are brave, I do not doubt your courage I have seen you act courageously only I wish to know if this courage is white or red; if it shines as much in darkness and solitude as in broad daylight, and before the crowd that's all."
"Thus put, I understand the question, but I do not know how to answer it, not having ever found myself in a situation where it was necessary for me to employ the kind of courage of which you speak. I can simply, and in all confidence, assure you of this that day or night, alone or in company, in default of bravery, pride would always prevent me from retreating, and would constrain me to front my adversaries, whoever they might be, if they stood before me to oppose my will, when I had formed a resolution."
"I thank you for that assurance, master, for our task will be arduous, and I shall be happy to know that you will not abandon me in the great danger in which I shall be placed, and my devotion to you."
"You can count on my word, Tyro," answered the painter; "so, banish all afterthoughts, and boldly march ahead."
"That I will do, master, you may depend. Now, let us leave that, and come to the news that I had to tell you."
"Just so," said the painter; "what is this news good or bad?"
"That depends, master, on how you estimate it."
"Good; let me know first."
"Do you know that the Spanish officers, whom they were going to try tomorrow, or the day after, have escaped?"
"Escaped!" cried, the painter, with astonishment, "When was that?"
"This very morning; they passed near here scarcely two hours ago, mounted on horses of the Pampas, and galloping furiously in the direction of the Cordilleras."
"Upon my word, so much the better for them I am delighted at it, for, as matters go in this country, they would have been shot."
"They would have been shot certainly," said the Indian, nodding his head.
"That would have been a pity," said the young man. "Although I know very little about them, and they have placed me, by their fault, in a rather difficult position, I should have been sorry if any misfortune had happened to them. So you are certain that they have really escaped?"
"Master, I have seen them."
"Then, bon voyage! God grant that they may not be retaken."
"Do you not fear that this flight may be prejudicial?"
"To me! Why?" cried he, with surprise.
"Have you not been indirectly implicated in their affairs?"
"That is true, but I believe I have nothing to fear now, and that the suspicions which had been excited against me have been completely dissipated."
"So much the better, master; however, if I may give you advice believe me, be prudent."
"Come, talk candidly. I see behind your Indian circumlocutions a serious thought which possesses you, and which you wish me to share. Respect, or some fear that I cannot understand, alone prevents you from explaining yourself."
"Since you demand it, master, I will explain myself, especially as time presses. The flight of the two Spanish officers has awakened suspicions which were but suppressed; and now they accuse you of having encouraged them in their project of flight, and of having procured them the means of accomplishing it."
"I! Why, that is impossible! I have not once seen them since their arrest."
"I know it, master; however, it is as I say; I am well informed."
"Then my position becomes extremely delicate; I do not know what to do."