From the first moment that they met, Don Melchior and the Count seemed equally little satisfied with each other: the Frenchman appeared too mannered and effeminate to the Mexican and, per contra, the latter repulsed the other by the coarseness of his nature and the triviality of his gestures and expressions.
But if there had been only this instinctive antipathy between the two young men, it would probably have disappeared by degrees, and friendly relations would have been established between them, when they knew each other better and could consequently appreciate one another's good qualities; but this was not the case, it was neither indifference nor jealousy that Don Melchior felt for the Count, but a hearty Mexican hatred.
Whence did this hatred spring? What unknown familiarity of the Count had given birth to it? That was Don Melchior's secret.
The young hacendero was completely wrapped up in mysteries: his actions were as gloomy as his countenance: enjoying unbounded liberty, he used and abused it as he pleased to the fullest extent by going in and out without accounting to anybody: it is true that his father and mother, doubtless accustomed to this behaviour, never asked him any questions as to where he had been, or what he had been doing, when he reappeared after an absence which was frequently prolonged for a week.
On such occasions, which were very frequent, he was usually seen returning at the breakfast hour.
He bowed silently to the company, sat down without uttering a syllable, ate, then twisted a cigarette, which he lighted, and then withdrew to his apartments without further notice of the party.
Once or twice Don Andrés, who understood perfectly well how unpolite such conduct was towards his guest, tried to apologise for his son, by throwing the blame of this apparent rudeness on his very serious occupations, which completely absorbed him; but the Count replied that Don Melchior appeared to him a charming cavalier, that he saw nothing but what was perfectly natural in his mode of acting towards him, that the very want of ceremony he displayed was a proof of the friendship which he evidenced for him by treating him not as a stranger, but as a friend and relative, and that he would be most sorry if Don Melchior, on his account, set any restraint on his habits.
Don Andrés, though not duped by his guest's apparent gentleness, had not considered it prudent to dwell on this subject, and it dropped.
Don Melchior was feared by all the people belonging to the hacienda, and, according to all appearance, even by his father.
It was evident that this gloomy young man exercised over all who surrounded him an influence, which though occult, was probably the more formidable on that account, but no one dared to complain, and the Count, who alone might have ventured some observations, did not at all care about doing so for the very simple reason that regarding himself as a stranger spending a little while in Mexico, he felt no inclination to mix himself up in matters or intrigues which did not concern him and could not possibly affect him in the slightest degree.
Nearly two months had elapsed since the young man's arrival at the hacienda: he had passed the time in reading, or riding about the country, on which occasions he was nearly always accompanied by the majordomo of the hacienda, a man of about forty years of age, with a frank and open face, a short, muscular and powerfully built man, who appeared to be very intimate with his masters.
This majordomo, Leo Carral by name, had struck up a great liking for this young Frenchman, whose inexhaustible gaiety and liberality had touched his heart.
During their long rides over the plain, he took pleasure in perfecting the Count in art of riding made him understand the defective principles of the French school, and applied himself to render him a real hombre de a caballo and a jinete of the first class, just like himself.
We must add that his pupil profited perfectly by his lessons, and not only became within a short time a perfect horseman, but also a first rate shot. Thanks again to the worthy majordomo.
The Count, by the advice of his professor, had adopted the Mexican garb, an elegant and convenient costume, which he wore with unparalleled grace.
Don Andrés de la Cruz rubbed his hands with glee on seeing the man whom he already regarded almost as his son-in-law, assume the garb of the country a certain proof in his eyes of the Count's intention to settle in Mexico. He had even on this occasion adroitly tried to lead the conversation to the subject he had nearest his heart, that is to say, the young man's marriage, with Doña Dolores. But the Count who was always on his guard, avoided this awkward subject, as he had done on several previous occasions, and Don Andrés withdrew, shaking his head and muttering
"Yet we must come to an explanation."
It was at least the tenth time since the Count's arrival at the hacienda that Don Andrés de la Cruz promised himself to have an explanation with him, but up to then, the young man had always contrived to elude it.
One night when the Count, who had retired to his apartments, was reading later than his wont, at the moment when he closed his book and prepared to go to bed, raising his eyes accidentally, he fancied he saw a shadow pass before the glass door that opened on the huerta.
The night was advanced, all the inhabitants of the hacienda were or ought to be asleep two hours before, who was this prowler whom fancy impelled to stroll about so late?
Without accounting for the motive that urged him to act so, Ludovic resolved to find out.
He got up from the butaca in which he was seated, took from a table two revolvers, in order to be prepared for any event, and opening the door as softly as he could, he went forth into the huerta and proceeded in the direction where he had seen the suspicious shadow disappear.
The night was magnificent, the moon shed as much light as broad day, and the atmosphere was so transparent, that objects could be perfectly distinguished for a great distance.
As the Count very rarely entered the huerta, and hence was ignorant of its arrangement, he hesitated to enter the walks which he saw running before him in all directions, crossing each other as to form a perfect labyrinth, for he had no inclination to stay out all night, lovely though it was.
He therefore, stopped to reflect, perhaps he was mistaken, had been the dupe of an illusion, and what he had taken for a man's shadow, might possibly be that of a branch agitated by the night breeze, and which the moon beams had caused to dazzle his eyes.
This observation was not only just, but logical, hence the young man carefully guarded himself against yielding to it; at the end of an instant an ironical smile curled his lips and instead of entering the garden, he cautiously slipped along the wall which formed on this side a wall of verdure to the hacienda.
After gliding along thus for about ten minutes, the Count stopped, first to take breath and then to look about him.
"Good," he muttered after looking cautiously around, "I was not mistaken."
He then bent forward, cautiously parted the leaves and branches and looked out.
Almost immediately he drew himself back, suppressing a cry of surprise.
The spot where he was, was exactly opposite the suite of apartments occupied by Doña Dolores de Cruz.
A window in this suite was open, and Doña Dolores leaning on the window ledge, was talking to a man who was standing in the garden, but exactly opposite to her, a distance of scarce two feet separated the speakers, who appeared engaged in a most interesting conversation.
It was impossible for the Count to recognize the man, although he was only a few yards from him. In the first place, he had his back turned to him, and then he was wrapped up in a cloak which completely disguised him.
A window in this suite was open, and Doña Dolores leaning on the window ledge, was talking to a man who was standing in the garden, but exactly opposite to her, a distance of scarce two feet separated the speakers, who appeared engaged in a most interesting conversation.
It was impossible for the Count to recognize the man, although he was only a few yards from him. In the first place, he had his back turned to him, and then he was wrapped up in a cloak which completely disguised him.
"Ah!" the Count muttered, "I was not mistaken." In spite of the blow this discovery dealt his vanity, the Count uttered these words with a mental satisfaction at having guessed correctly: this man, whoever he was, could only be a lover.
Still, though the two spoke softly, they did not lower their voices so as to render them inaudible at a short distance, and while blaming himself for the indelicate action he was committing, the Count, excited by vexation and possibly by unconscious jealousy, parted the branches and bent forward again for the purpose of listening.
The young lady was speaking. "Good heaven," she said with emotion, "I tremble, my friend, when I pass several days without seeing you: my anxiety is extreme and I even fear a misfortune."
"Confound it," the Count muttered, "that fellow is dearly beloved."
This aside made him lose the man's reply. The young lady continued:
"Am I condemned to remain much longer here?"
"A little patience: I trust that everything will be ended soon," the stranger answered in a low voice; "and what is he doing?"
"He is still the same, as gloomy and mysterious as ever," she replied.
"Is he here tonight?"
"Yes."
"Still as ill-tempered?"
"More so than ever."
"And the Frenchman?"
"Ah! Ah!" said the Count, "Let us hear what is thought of me."
"He is a most agreeable person," the young lady murmured in a trembling voice; "for the last few days he has seemed sad."
"Is he growing weary?"
"I fear so."
"Poor girl," the Count said, "she has perceived that I am growing tired; it is true that I take but little trouble to conceal the fact. But, by the way, can I be mistaken, and this man is no lover? It is very improbable, and yet who knows?" he added fatuously.
During this long aside, the two speakers had continued their conversation which had been totally unheard by the young man, when he began to listen again. Doña Dolores was concluding
"I will do it, as you insist on it: but is it very necessary, my friend?"
"Indispensable, Dolores."
"Hang it! He is familiar," the Count said.
"I will obey then," the young lady continued,
"Now we must part: I have remained here too long as it is."
The stranger pulled his hat down over his eyes, muttered the word farewell, for the last time and went off at a quick pace.
The Count had remained motionless at the same spot, a prey to a profound stupefaction. The stranger passed close enough to touch him, though without seeing him: at this moment a branch knocked off his hat, a moon ray fell full on his face and the Count then recognized him.
"Oliver!" he muttered, "It is he then, that she loves."
He returned to his apartments tottering like a drunken man. This last discovery had upset him.
The young man went to bed, but could not sleep: he passed the whole night in forming the most extravagant projects. However, toward morning, his agitation appeared to give way to lassitude.
Before forming any resolution, he said, "I wish to have an explanation with her, very certainly I do not love her, but for my honour's sake, it is necessary that she should be thoroughly convinced that I am not a fool and that I know everything. That is settled: tomorrow I shall request an interview with her."
Feeling calmer, after he had formed a definitive resolution, the Count closed his eyes and fell asleep.
On waking, he saw Raimbaut standing at his bed side, with a paper in his hand.
"What is it? What do you want?" he said to him.
"It is a letter for Monsieur le Comte," the valet answered.
"Ah!" he exclaimed; "Can it be news from France?"
"I do not think so; this letter was given to Lanca by one of the waiting women of Doña Dolores de la Cruz, with a request to deliver it to M. le Comte, as soon as he woke."
"This is strange," the young man muttered, as he took the note and examined it attentively; "it is certainly addressed to me," he muttered, at length deciding on opening it.
The note was from Doña Dolores de la Cruz, and only contained these few words, written in a delicate though rather tremulous hand.
"Doña Dolores de la Cruz earnestly requests Señor don Ludovic de la Saulay to grant her a private interview for a very important affair at three o'clock in the afternoon of today. Doña Dolores will await the Count in her own apartments."
"This time I cannot make head or tail of it," the Count exclaimed. "But stuff," he added, after a moment's reflection; "perhaps it is better that it should be so, and the proposition come from her."
CHAPTER VII
THE RANCHO
The state of Puebla is composed of a plateau mountain, more than five and twenty leagues in circumference, crossed by the lofty Cordilleras of Ahamiac.
The plains which surround the town are very diversified, cut up by ravines, studded with hills, and closed on the horizon by mountains covered by eternal snows.
Immense fields of aloes, the real vineyards of the country, as pulque, that beverage so dear to the Mexicans, is made from this plant, extend beyond the range of vision.
There is no sight so imposing as these commanding aloes, whose leaves, armed with formidable points, are thick, hard, lustrous, and from six to eight feet in length.
On leaving Puebla by the Mexico road, about two leagues further on, you come to the city of Choluta, formerly very important, but which, now fallen from its past splendour, only contains from twelve to fifteen thousand souls.
In the days of the Aztecs, the territory, which now forms the State of Puebla, was considered by the inhabitants a privileged Holy Land, and the sanctuary of the religion. Considerable ruins, very remarkable from an archæological point of view, still bear witness to the truth of our statement; three principal pyramids exist in a very limited space, without mentioning the ruins on which travellers tread at every step.
Of these three pyramids, one is justly celebrated; it is the one to which the inhabitants of the country give the name of Monte hecho a mano, the mountain built by human hands, or the great teocali of Cholula.
This pyramid, crowned with cypresses, and on the top of which now stands a chapel dedicated to "Nuestra Señora de los remedios," is entirely constructed of bricks, its height is one hundred and seventy feet, and its base, according to the calculations of Humboldt, is 1355 feet in length, or a little more than double the base of the pyramids of Cheops.
Monsieur Ampère remarks, with considerable tact and cleverness, that the imagination of the Arabs has surrounded with prodigies, the, to them, unknown cradle of the Egyptian pyramids, whose construction they refer to the deluge; and the same was the case in Mexico. On this subject he relates a tradition picked up in 1566, by Pedro del Rio, about the pyramids of Cholula, and preserved in his MSS., which are now in the Vatican.
We will in our turn, make a loan from the celebrated savant, and relate here this tradition, such as he gives it in his Promenades en Amérique.
"During the last great inundation, the country of Ahamioc (the plateau of Mexico), was inhabited by giants. All those who did not perish in this disaster, were changed into fishes, except seven giants who took refuge in the caverns. When the waters began to subside, one of these giants, of the name of Xelhua, who was an architect, erected near Cholula, in memory of the mountain of Tlaloc, which had served as a refuge to him and his brothers, an artificial column of a pyramidal form. The Gods, seeing with jealousy, this edifice, whose peak was intended to touch the clouds, and irritated by the audacity of Xelhua, hurled the heavenly fires against the pyramid, whence it happened, that many of the builders perished, and the work could not be completed. It was dedicated to the god of the air, 'Qualzalcoatl.'"