The Rebel Chief: A Tale of Guerilla Life. Gustave Aimard
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 la 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.
"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