When once convinced of this certainty, he became seriously uneasy. The love he felt for his cousin was profound and sincere; he had let it grow into his heart too deeply to be easily eradicated. He saw all his plans of happiness in the future crumble together, and, his hopes once shipwrecked, resolved to have the indispensable explanation from the girl which should tell him how much he had to hope or fear.
It was with the intention of demanding this explanation from Doña Hermosa that, instead of returning to San Lucar, where he lived, he had desired the vaqueros to show him the way to the Hacienda del Cormillo. But as soon as his guides left him, and he found himself alone in front of the hacienda, his courage nearly evaporated. Foreseeing the result of the step he was about to take, he hesitated to enter the dwelling; for, like all lovers, in spite of the pain caused by the girl's indifference, he would have preferred to go on cheating himself with futile expectations, rather than learn a truth which would break his heart, by robbing him of all hope.
The struggle lasted a long time; more than once he made as if he would ride back; but at last reason conquered passion. He comprehended how difficult the position would be, both for Doña Hermosa and himself. Happen what might, he resolved to end it; and digging his spurs into the flanks of his horse, he galloped towards the hacienda, rightly fearing that, if he lingered longer, he would find no strength to accomplish the project he had formed.
When he arrived at El Cormillo, he was informed that Don Pedro and his daughter had gone hunting at sunrise, and would not return before the oración (time for mass).
"So much the better," muttered Don Torribio between his teeth, and with a sigh of satisfaction at the respite chance had so opportunely afforded him.
Without stopping for the refreshments offered him, he turned his horse's head in the direction of San Lucar, and galloped off, congratulating himself that the explanation he both dreaded and desired had been thus providentially delayed.
CHAPTER IV.
LA TERTULIA (THE PARTY)
We must now introduce our readers to the Hacienda del Cormillo, two days later than the event we have just narrated.
Towards eight o'clock in the evening, two persons were seated in the drawing room of the hacienda, close to a brasero (brasier); for the nights were still cold.
A stranger opening the doors of this room could have fancied himself transported to the Faubourg St. Germain, it was so elegantly furnished in the French fashion. Parisian luxury was exhibited in the carpets, Parisian taste in the choice of the furniture. Nothing was forgotten, not even a pianoforte by Erard, on which lay the scores of Parisian operas, nor a magnificent harmonium from the workshops of Alexandre; and as if to prove that glory travels far, and genius has wings, the novels and poems in fashion at Paris strewed a round table by Boule. Everything put you in mind of France and Paris, with the exception of the silver brasero, which, with its glowing knots of olive wood, showed that you were in Spanish America. This magnificent withdrawing room was lighted up by candles of rose-coloured wax, in handsome chandeliers.
It was Don Pedro and his daughter who was seated by the brasero. Doña Hermosa was clad in a dress of the greatest simplicity, which made her look still more charming. She was smoking a tiny cigarette, rolled in a maize leaf, which did not interrupt the flow of her conversation with her father.
"Yes," said she, "the most lovely birds in the world have been brought to the presidio."
"Well, querida chica?" (my darling).
"It appears to me that my dearest father is not quite as gallant as usual tonight," she said, pouting a little, like a spoilt child.
"What do you know about that, señorita?" answered Don Pedro, laughing.
"What! Is it the truth?" she exclaimed, as she jumped from her seat, and clapped her hands together; "You have thought "
"Of buying you the birds. Tomorrow you will see your feathered subjects, and your aviary stocked with parakeets, love birds, Bengalis, hummingbirds, and Heaven knows how many others. There are at least four hundred of them, you little ingrate!"
"Oh, how kind you are! And how I love you!" replied the girl, throwing herself into her father's arms, and kissing him a thousand times.
"That will do, that will do, little monkey! Do you want to stifle me with kisses?"
"What shall I do to show my gratitude for such kind forethought?"
"Poor little dear!" said he sadly; "I have only yourself to love now."
"Say to adore, my dearest father; for it is adoration you feel for me; and I too love you with all the strength of love which God has given me."
"And yet," said Don Pedro, in tones of gentle reproach, "you are not afraid of causing me uneasiness."
"I!" said Hermosa, beginning to tremble.
"Yes, you," he replied, threatening her with uplifted finger; "you are concealing something from me."
"Father!" she murmured softly.
"Daughter, a father's eye can pierce to the bottom of the heart of a girl of sixteen. Some extraordinary change has taken place in you these last few days: your thoughts are strangely preoccupied."
"You are right, father," she replied with a good deal of firmness.
"And what are you dreaming about, little girl?" asked Don Pedro, smiling to conceal his anxiety.
"About Don Torribio de Quiroga, father."
"Aha!" replied he, "Because you love him, I suppose?"
Doña Hermosa drew herself up, and assumed a serious expression.
"I!" said she, placing her hand on her bosom, "No! I deceived myself until today. I do not love Don Torribio, and yet I cannot help thinking of him, although I do not know why. Since his return from Europe, a change has come over him for which I cannot account. It seems to me, that he is not the same person who was brought up with me. His look pains, yet fascinates me; his voice raises a feeling of undefinable sorrow. Certainly, the man is handsome; his manners are noble, and his bearing that of a highbred gentleman: yet there is something nameless about him which chills me, and inspires invincible repugnance."
"How romantic!" said Don Pedro, laughing.
"Laugh at me! Mock me!" she replied, her voice trembling. "Shall I confess everything, father?"
"Speak confidently, dearest child."
"I will. I believe this man, whom I thought I loved, will bring evil upon me."
"Child," replied Don Pedro, kissing her forehead, "what ill could he do you?"
"Father, I cannot tell; but I dread it."
"Do you wish me to break with him, and not to admit him again?"
"Heaven forbid! It would certainly hasten the misfortune that threatens me."
"Pooh! you are a spoilt child! You grow whimsical, and amuse yourself by creating phantoms. All these fears and imaginary presentiments spring from your love for your cousin. The only way to restore your tranquillity is to marry you to him as soon as possible; and be sure, my dear, that is what I intend to do."
Doña Hermosa shook her head sorrowfully, and cast down her eyes, but she made no reply: she felt that her father had completely misunderstood her meaning, and that any attempt to bring him over to her wishes would be vain.
Just at that moment a peon announced Don Torribio, who entered the room.
He was dressed in the latest Paris fashion; and the glare of the candles lighted up his handsome face.
Father and daughter both trembled; the one perhaps with joy, the other certainly with fear.
Just at that moment a peon announced Don Torribio, who entered the room.
He was dressed in the latest Paris fashion; and the glare of the candles lighted up his handsome face.
Father and daughter both trembled; the one perhaps with joy, the other certainly with fear.
Don Torribio, after gracefully saluting Doña Hermosa, approached her and respectfully offered her a superb bouquet of exotic flowers. She took them with a forced smile, and, without looking at them, placed them on the table.
Soon after, other persons were announced: the governor, Don José Kalbris, and his staff; two or three other families in all, about twenty people; and lastly, Don Estevan Dias, and Don Fernando Carril.
It was certainly impossible to recognise the hardy backwoodsman, the redoubtable bee-hunter, who a few days before had done Don Pedro and his daughter such signal service, in the elegant caballero who arrived in the company of the mayor domo of the hacienda. His irreproachable bearing, his distinguished manner, in short, all about him, banished suspicion, or rather prevented comparison.
We have already said that Don Fernando Carril, although his life was wrapped in impenetrable mystery, was superficially known to all the best society in the provinces, and, thanks to the easy-going manners of the Mexicans, received in the best families. His presence at the hacienda was, therefore, nothing extraordinary. Nevertheless, his appearance excited lively curiosity in the guests; for it was a long time since Don Fernando had been seen at any entertainment.
Like Don Torribio, the hunter, when he entered the room, approached Doña Hermosa, bowed profoundly to her, and respectfully offered her a flower he held in his hand.
"Señorita," said he, in a voice full of suppressed emotion, "deign to accept this modest flower; it grows only in the desert," he added, significantly.
Doña Hermosa trembled at the sound of his voice, which she thought she had recognised; a lively blush rose to her cheeks; and dropping her eyes under the ardent gaze fixed upon her, she took the flower and placed it in her bosom, as she answered inarticulately:
"Everything that comes from the desert will be dear to me henceforth."
The conversation of the guests had by this time grown animated. The little incident passed without remark, except from one person, who, with that kind of intuition which springs from love and jealousy, had divined in Don Fernando one who, if not an openly declared rival, was, at least, preferred in secret.
This person was Don Torribio Quiroga.
Leaning towards Don Estevan, who chanced to be near him, he said, in a voice low indeed but perfectly distinct and audible to all: "What golden key does this man possess, whom nobody knows, by which he introduces himself into honourable families, where his presence is neither desired nor invited?"
"Ask him yourself, señor," said Don Estevan dryly; "he will most likely be able to explain his conduct satisfactorily."
"I shall follow your advice this instant, señor," answered Don Torribio haughtily.
"It is unnecessary, caballero; I heard your words perfectly," said Don Fernando.
His voice was calm, and he made a courteous bow to Don Torribio, while an ironical smile curled his lips for a moment.
All conversation had been suddenly broken off; a profound silence reigned over those present, and the looks of all were turned in curiosity towards the two men.
Doña Hermosa, pale and trembling, cast a look of entreaty on her father.
Don Pedro walked resolutely into the middle, of the room, and placed himself between the two caballeros.
"What does this mean, señores?" said he. "Is this the idea of propriety you have brought back from your travels in Europe, Don Torribio? Do you dare to turn my drawing room into lists wherein to break your lance in personal quarrels? What right have you to cavil at Don Fernando's presence here? You are not my son-in-law yet, as far as I know. I am master here, and can receive whom I think fit."
"Even cutthroats and salteadores (highwaymen), cousin, if such is your good pleasure," replied the young man, with an ironical bow.
Don Fernando looked as if he were going to rush upon the man who had thus insulted him, but managed to contain himself.
"Will Don Torribio deign to explain himself," he said calmly, "and not speak in enigmas?"
"And whose fault is it, caballero, if I speak in enigmas? Are you not the cause of the mystery?"
"Enough, caballeros!" exclaimed Don Pedro; "He who utters another word on this subject, makes me his mortal enemy."
The two men bowed respectfully to the hacendero and separated, but not without having exchanged looks of terrible expression.
"Well, colonel," continued Don Pedro, addressing the governor, in the hopes of glossing over the lamentable altercation, "What news from La Ciudad? Is Mexico still tranquil?"
"Our great Santa Anna," replied the colonel, who was choking in his uniform, "has once more soundly beaten the audacious general who has dared to issue a pronunciamiento (manifesto) against him."
"Thank God! Perhaps this victory will procure us the tranquillity of which commerce stands so much in need."
"Yes," said a rich hacendero, a neighbour of Don Pedro. "Communication has been so difficult of late, that we can forward nothing."
"Are the redskins at work?" asked a merchant, whom these words had troubled.
"No," said the governor; "there is no danger from them. The last lesson they got was a rude one, and they will not forget it. For a long time they have not dared to invade our frontiers."
An almost imperceptible smile curled the lips of Don Fernando. "You forget the Tigercat and his adherents," said he.
"Oh! the Tigercat is only a bandit," said the governor hastily. "Besides, Government is at this moment preparing an expedition against him, so as to finish, once and for all, with his band of brigands."
"It is an admirable idea," said Don Torribio, with a sarcastic sneer. "It is time this frontier should be cleared of the host of fellows, with more than equivocal habits, who infest it."
"I am quite of the same opinion; it seems a most sensible measure," said Don Fernando quietly, but giving back to his adversary a smile as bitter as his own.
"In case of invasion, do you think the Indians able to give the province much trouble?" asked the merchant.
"H'm!" said Don José, with a patronising air; "People entertain exaggerated ideas of these redskins; in fact, they are but miserable wretches."
Don Fernando smiled again; but this time the smile was savage and sinister.
"Señor gobernador," said he, "you are not quite right. To judge by the news you were good enough to communicate, I believe the Indians will keep quite peaceably at home, unless they are determined to tempt ill luck."
"¡Rayo de Dios! I should think so," replied the governor.
"Ah! Señorita," said Don Torribio, gracefully turning to Doña Hermosa, "may I pray of your kindness to let us hear that delicious song from the Domino Noir, which you sang to such perfection a few days ago?"
Doña Hermosa, darted a look from under her long lashes at Don Fernando. The latter's eyes conveyed a mute prayer of entreaty. Without further hesitation, she placed herself at the piano, and, in a pure and feeling voice, sang the romance in the third act.
"I remember having heard that delicious romance sung in Paris by Madame Demareau, that nightingale who flew away too soon," said Don Torribio, bowing gallantly to Doña Hermosa. "I know not whether you or she sang it with most taste and spirit."