The Adventurers

Don Tadeo replied only by a suspicious glance.

"The General then is ignorant?"

"Of everything," said Don Pedro.

"With what purpose, then, does he wish to introduce himself among us?"

"Can you not guess? For that of obtaining your secret."

"But he risks his life."

"Do you forget that every adept must be introduced by a sponsor, who alone knows him? No one sees his face. Well, I introduce him," he added, with a smile of strange significance.

"That is true. But if he should suspect you of treachery?"

"I must undergo the consequences; but he will not suspect me."

"Why not?" Don Gregorio asked.

"Because," the spy replied, with a cynical smile, "for ten years the General has employed me, and during those ten years he has had only cause to praise me for the services I have rendered him."

A momentary silence followed.

"Here!" said Don Gregorio, after a long pause, "this time it is not ten ounces, but twenty, that you have earned. Continue to be faithful to us."

And he placed a heavy purse in his hands. The spy seized it with a gesture of avidity, and concealed it quickly under his poncho.

"You shall have no reproach to make me," he replied, with a bow.

"I hope we shall not," said Don Tadeo, with difficulty repressing an expression of disgust. "Only remember, we should be merciless."

"I know it."

"In that case, farewell."

"Farewell till tomorrow."

The men who had brought him, and who during the conversation had remained motionless, at a sign from Don Gregorio approached the spy, bandaged his eyes again, and led him away.

"Is that fellow a traitor?" asked Don Gregorio, as he listened to the retreating steps of the horses.

"It is our duty to suppose him one," the King of Darkness replied, gravely.

The two friends, instead of seeking the repose which must have been so necessary to them, talked together for a long time, in order to arrange all the measures of safety which were required by the importance of the scene about to take place on the morrow at the meeting of the conspirators. In the meantime Don Pedro had been quickly led back to Santiago. On arriving at one of the gates, his guides left him, disappearing in opposite directions. As soon as he was alone, he removed the handkerchief from his eyes.

"Hum!" he said, with a sinister smile, as he tossed up in his right hand the purse Don Gregorio had given him. "Twenty ounces make a purse of gold. Now let us see if General Bustamente is as liberal as his enemies. By the Virgin! the news I carry him are worth something to him! Let us try to get the best price for them."

After having cast his eyes around to see if the coast was clear, he set off at a sharp trot towards the government palace, muttering to himself —

"Bah! times are hard. If a man did not manoeuvre a little, he would find no means of bringing up his family honestly."

This reflection, of a rather dubious morality, was accompanied by a grimace, the expression of which would have given Don Tadeo cause for suspicion if he had seen it.

CHAPTER XIII

LOVE

On the morrow the two Frenchmen were awakened by the rays of the sun. The day promised to be a brilliant one, for there was not a cloud in the heavens. A light vapour, full of penetrating odours, arose slowly from the earth, drawn up by the beams of the sun, whose warm influence increased every minute. The morning breeze refreshed the air, and invited them to inhale it. The young men, perfectly recovered from their fatigue, sprang cheerfully from their humble beds and dressed themselves in haste.

The chacra, of which they had only a glimpse the night before by moonlight, was an immense farm, consisting of extensive buildings, and surrounded by fields in full cultivation. The greatest animation prevailed everywhere. Peons, mounted on half wild horses, were driving out the cattle to the artificial meadows, whilst others were running about after the horses they were getting together, in order to lead them to the drinking place. In the patio the major-domo was overlooking the women and girls engaged in milking. In short, this residence, which had appeared to them so silent and dismal the night before, assumed by daylight an appearance of life and cheerfulness delightful to contemplate.

The cries of the peons mingled with the lowing of the cattle, the barking of the dogs, and the crowing of the cocks, and formed that melodious concert which is only to be heard on a farm, and which always rejoices the heart.

It is a justice that we willingly render here to the Chilian republic when we say that it alone of the southern states of America appears to understand that the wealth of a country consists not in the number of its mines, but in the encouragement given to cultivation; and that this country, while possessing rich mines of gold, silver, and precious stones, only places their produce in the second rank, whilst it reserves its principal solicitude for agriculture. Chili is as yet young as a nation. There manufactures and the arts are in their infancy; but the farms are numerous, the fields well cultivated, and soon this country will be called upon, there is no doubt, through its system of labour, to become the entrepôt of the other American powers, which it already provides in a great measure with corn and wine, from Cape Horn to California.

Behind the chacra extended a well-kept up garden, in which oranges, pomegranates, and citrons, planted in the open ground, grew amidst limes, apples, plums, and all the other fruits of Europe. Louis was agreeably surprised at the aspect of this garden, with its numerous alleys, in which a thousand birds of brilliant colours warbled gaily under the foliage of the tufted thickets of jasmine and honeysuckle. Whilst Valentine went, followed by Cæsar, to look at the operations of the peons and smoke his cigar in the patio, Louis felt himself led by his dreamy spirit to indulge in poetical reveries, and to seek a few minutes' solitude in the Eden which lay before him. Urged by an unknown power, intoxicated by the sweet odours which embalmed the atmosphere, he glided into the garden, casting around him a vaguely questioning look.

The young man went dreaming along the garden walks, mechanically pulling to pieces with his fingers a rose which he had gathered. He had walked thus for nearly an hour, when he was roused by a slight noise among the leaves, at a short distance from him. He instinctively raised his head, just in time to catch a glimpse of a light white robe which was disappearing among the trees, but too late to completely distinguish the person who wore it, and who appeared to trip over the dewy grass like a white phantom. At the sight of this mysterious apparition the young man felt his heart bound in his breast; he stopped trembling, and the emotion he felt was so powerful, that he was forced to lean against a tree for support.

"What can be the matter with me?" he murmured to himself, as he wiped the cold perspiration from his brow. "I am mad!" he continued, with a forced smile. "I think I see her everywhere. Heavens! I love her so deeply that, in spite of myself, my imagination brings her before me unceasingly. That girl, of whom I just caught a glimpse, is probably the same we last night so miraculously saved. Poor child! Fortunately she did not see me; I should have frightened her. Better avoid her by going out of the garden; in my present state I should alarm her."

And, as always happens in such cases, he set off, on the contrary, in the very footsteps of her he had only caught a glimpse of, but whom, by one of the instinctive feelings of sympathy which come from God, and which science can never explain, he had nevertheless recognized.

The young girl, reclining in the depths of an arbour, like a hummingbird in its bed of muss, with a pale face, and her eyes cast down to the earth, was listening, pensive and sad, to the joyous melodies which the birds chanted in her absent ear. All at once, a slight noise made her start and raise her head. The Count was before her! She uttered a faint cry, and endeavoured to fly.

"Don Louis!" she exclaimed.

She had recognized him. The young man sank on his knees at the entrance of the arbour.

"Oh!" he cried, in a voice trembling with emotion, and with an accent of the most earnest entreaty, "for pity's sake, remain, madam!"

"Don Louis!" she repeated, already recovered, and feigning the most perfect indifference. Young girls, even the purest, possess in a high degree the talent of concealing their feelings, and of deceiving persons with regard to the emotions they really experience.

"Yes, it is I, madam," he continued, with an accent of the most respectful passion; "I, who, to see you again, have abandoned everything!"

The young lady displayed some slight surprise.

"For Heaven's sake!" he resumed, "allow me once more, if but for an instant, to contemplate your adored features! Oh!" he added, with a look of deep affection, "my heart had told me you were here, before my eyes had perceived you."

"Caballero," she said, in a tremulous voice, "I do not understand you."

"Oh, fear nothing from me, madam!" he interrupted her vehemently; "my respect for you is as profound as —

"Pray, caballero," she said, earnestly, "rise; if anyone should surprise you thus!"

"Madam," he replied, "the avowal I have to make to you, requires me to remain in the position of a suppliant!"

"Oh, caballero!"

"I love you, madam!" he said, in broken accents; "I know not what gives me the boldness to pronounce a word which in France I did not venture to breathe in your ear, and which I have never allowed to pass from my heart to my lips. But even if you banished me from your presence for ever, once again I must tell you that I love you, madam; and if you do not return my love, I shall die!"

The maiden looked at him for a moment with a melancholy air; a tear trembled on her long eyelashes; she took a step towards him, and holding out her hand, upon which he imprinted a burning kiss, said softly, —

"Rise."

The Count obeyed. Doña Rosario sunk back upon the bench behind her, and appeared plunged in profound and painful meditation. Both remained silent, Louis watching her with intense anxiety, and a throbbing heart. At length she raised her head, and exhibited a countenance bathed in tears.

"Caballero," she said in a melancholy tone, "if God has permitted us to meet once again, it is because, in His divine goodness, He has judged that a decisive explanation should take place between us."

The young man appeared anxious to speak.

"Do not interrupt me," she continued, "or I shall not have the courage to finish what I have to say to you. You love me, Louis; your presence here is an incontestable proof of it – you love me; and yet how many times, during my short residence in France, have you cursed me in secret, accusing me of coquetry, or, at least, of unaccountable levity!"

"Madam!"

"Oh!" she said, with a faint smile, "since you have avowed your love for me, I will be frank with you, Louis; and although it be my duty to deprive you of all future hope, I am at least anxious to justify the past, and leave you a remembrance of me that nothing can tarnish!"

"Oh, madam! why do you repeat such things to me?"

"Why?" she said, with a look full of melancholy, and in a voice harmonious as the sigh of an Æolian harp, "because I have faith in that love, so warm, so young, so true; which neither daily indignities nor vast distances have been able to conquer – because, in short, I also love you! do you not plainly see that, Louis?"

On hearing this confession, so ingenuous, and made in a tone so sorrowful that the young girl appeared no longer to belong to earth, the Count felt struck by a terrible presentiment; his heart was wrung with doubtful agony. Trembling, bewildered, he gazed on her with the fixed and desperate eye of one condemned to death, who is listening to the reading of his sentence.

"Yes!" she resumed, with feverish eagerness; "yes, I love you, Louis, I shall always love you; but never, never, can we be united."

"Oh, that is impossible!" he cried, raising his head vehemently.

"Listen to me," she said, in a tone of authority; "I do not order you to forget me, Louis; a love like yours is eternal: alas! I feel that mine will last as long as my life. You see, my friend, I am frank; I do not speak to you as a maiden ought to speak; I unfold my heart before you, leaving you to read it as you would your own. Well, this love, which would be for us the height of felicity, – this communion of two spirits, which blend with each other to form one blissful whole, – this boundless happiness must be dispersed for ever, without chance of recovery, without hesitation!"

"Oh, I cannot consent!" he exclaimed, in a voice broken by sobs.

"But it must be so, I tell you!" she continued, wild with anguish. "Great Heaven! what more do you require of me? Must I confess everything to you? Well, then, since it must be so, know that I am a miserable creature, condemned from my birth, pursued by a terrible hatred, which follows me step by step, which watches me incessantly; and some day – tomorrow, perhaps today – will crush me without mercy! Obliged to change my name constantly; flying from city to city, from country to country; wherever I may go, this implacable enemy, whom I do not know, and against whom I cannot defend myself, pursues me without intermission."

"But I will defend you!" the young man said, with confident energy.

"And I, on my part, am not willing that you should die!" she replied, with an accent of ineffable tenderness. "To attach yourself to me is to court destruction. I went to France to seek a place of refuge. I was obliged to quit that hospitable land with the greatest suddenness. Arrived here only a few weeks since, but for you, last night, I should have been lost! No, no, I am condemned; I know I am, and I am resigned; but I will not drag you down in my fall! Alas! I am, perhaps, doomed to suffer tortures still more horrible than those I have hitherto endured! Oh, Louis, in the name of the love which you have for me, and which I fully share, leave me the supreme consolation in my wretchedness of knowing that you are safe from the torments which overwhelm me!"

At this moment Valentine's voice was heard at a short distance, and Cæsar came wagging his tail to his master. Doña Rosario gathered a blossom of the suchil which grew close to them, and presented it to the young man, after having for a moment inhaled its sweet odour.

"Here," she said, "my friend, accept this flower, the only memorial, alas! that will remain with you of me."

The young man concealed the flower in his bosom.

"Someone is coming," she continued, in broken accents. "Swear, Louis! swear to quit this country as soon as possible, without endeavouring to see me again."

The Count hesitated.

"Oh!" he cried, "some day, perhaps, – "

"Never on earth. Have I not told you that I am condemned? Swear, Louis, that at least I may hope to meet you again in heaven."

She pronounced these words with such a tone of despair, that the young man, overcome, in spite of himself, made a gesture of assent, and let the almost inarticulate words escape his lips, —

"I swear to do so!"

"Thanks! thanks!" she cried wildly, and hurriedly imprinting a kiss upon the brow of her prostrated lover, she disappeared with the lightness of a fawn amidst a thicket of standard roses, at the moment when Valentine became visible at the turning of the walk.

"Why brother," the soldier said gaily, "what the deuce are you about here, at the bottom of the garden? Breakfast is waiting for you. I have been looking for you this hour; and if it had not been for Cæsar, I should not have found you now."

The Count turned towards him, his face lathed in tears, and threw his arms round his neck.

"Brother! brother!" he cried, in an accent of despair; "I am the most unhappy of men!"

Valentine looked at him in astonishment. The Count had fainted.

"What on earth is all this about?" said the soldier, casting a suspicious look around him, and laying his foster brother, who was motionless as a corpse, gently upon a grassy bank.

CHAPTER XIV

THE QUINTA VERDE

Not far from Rio Claro, a charming little city, built in a delicious situation between Santiago and Talca, there was then, and probably is still, upon a hill commanding an extensive view, a pretty quinta, with white walls and green shutters, coquettishly concealed from indiscreet eyes by a thicket of trees of various sorts – oaks, acajous, maples, palms, aloes, cactus, &c., which sprang up and intertwined within each other in such a fashion around it as to form an almost impregnable rampart. It is difficult to explain how, in such a period of convulsions and overthrows, this delicious habitation had hitherto escaped, as if by a miracle, from the devastation and pillage which incessantly menaced it, and which fell without intermission around it, enveloping it, as it were, in a network of ruins, without, however, having ever troubled that tranquil dwelling, although the human tempest had frequently howled beneath its walls, and, in the shade of night, it had often seen the red torches of incendiaries gleam; all at once, though no one knew why, and as if by enchantment, the cries of murder ceased, and the torches became extinguished and harmless in the hands of the men who, a minute before, had waved them about madly. This habitation was named the "Quinta Verde."

By what prodigy had this house, so simple in appearance, and so like the rest, avoided the common fate and remained alone, perhaps, of all the houses of the Chilian plains, calm and tranquil in the midst of general confusion, equally respected by the two parties contending for power, and surveying carelessly from the top of its pretty mirador the revolution raging at its feet, which carried away, as in an infernal whirlwind, cities, villages, houses, fortunes, and families? This is what many people, at various periods, had been anxious to know, though they had never been able to find out. Nobody ostensibly inhabited this quinta, in which, on certain days, noises were heard which filled with a superstitious terror the worthy guasos living in the neighbourhood.

The day after that on which the events occurred which open this history, the heat had been oppressive, the atmosphere heavy, and the sun had gone down amidst a flood of purple vapour, the precursors of a storm which burst with fury as soon as night had completely closed in. The wind bent down the trees as it whistled through them, the collision of the branches producing a melancholy sound; the heavens were black, not a star was to be seen; and large grey clouds coursed rapidly across the zenith, covering all nature with a leaden pall. In the distance resounded the howlings of wild beasts, among which was occasionally mingled the hoarse, sharp barking of stray dogs.

Nine o'clock struck slowly from a distant steeple; the sound of the metal, repeated by the echoes from the hills, vibrated with a plaintive tone over the deserted landscape. The moon, fitfully emerging from behind the clouds which veiled her, spread for a few seconds a pale and trembling light over the scene, giving it a fantastic aspect. This fugitive ray of doubtful light, nevertheless, enabled a small troop of horsemen, who were painfully ascending a winding path on the side of a mountain, to distinguish, at a few paces before them, the black outline of a house, from the top window of which beamed like a pharos a red, uncertain light. This house was the "Quinta Verde."

At about four or five paces in advance of the troop rode two horsemen, muffled carefully in their cloaks, the flaps of their hats pulled down over their eyes, appeared, in the darkness, to be a needless precaution; but it, nevertheless, showed that these personages were very anxious not to be recognized.

"Heaven be praised!" said one of these horsemen to his companion, as he pulled up his horse, to look searchingly around him, as far as the darkness would permit; "I hope we shall soon be there."

"In a quarter of an hour, at latest, General, we shall be at the end of our journey."

"Do not let us stop, then," the one addressed as General said; "I am impatient to penetrate into this abominable den."

"One moment, General!" the first speaker continued. "It is my duty to warn your Excellency that there is still time to retreat; and that would, perhaps, be the more prudent step."

"Please to observe this, Diego," said the General, fixing upon his companion a look which gleamed in the semi-obscurity like that of a tiger-cat – "in the circumstances in which I am placed, prudence, as you understand the word, would be cowardice. I am quite aware what I am called upon to do by the confidence placed in me by my fellow citizens; our position is most critical: the liberal reaction is raising its head in all quarters, and we must put an end to this ever-reviving hydra. The news of Don Tadeo's escape from death has spread with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder; all the malcontents of whom he is the leader, are in almost open action; if I were to hesitate to strike a great blow and crush the head of the serpent which hisses in my ears, it would tomorrow, perhaps, be too late; hesitation has always been the ruin of statesmen in affairs of importance."

"And yet, General, if the man who has furnished you with this information should – "

"Be a traitor? Well, that is possible – ay, even probable; therefore, I have neglected nothing that may neutralize the consequences of a treachery which I foresee."

"By the Virgin! General, in your place, however – "

"Thank you, old comrade, thank you for your solicitude; but enough of this subject, you ought to know me well enough to be sure that I shall never flinch from my duty."

"I have nothing more to do, then, but to wish your Excellency well through your undertaking; for you know you must arrive alone at the Quinta Verde, and I can escort you no farther."

"Very well, wait here then; make your men dismount for a time, keep a sharp watch, and execute punctually the orders I have given you. I am going on."

Diego bowed respectfully, but with an air of anxiety, and withdrew his hand, which had been placed on the bridle of the General's horse. The latter more carefully enveloped himself in his cloak, the folds of which had become too loose, and gave the usual jockey signal to excite his horse. At this well-known sound the horse pricked up its ears, and being thoroughbred, although fatigued, set off at a gallop.

After a few minutes of this rapid travelling, the General stopped; but it appeared as if his journey was completed, for, dismounting, he threw the bridle on his horse's neck, with as little care what became of it as if it had been a hack post-horse, and walked with a firm step towards the house, which he had held in view some time, and from which he was now not more than ten paces distant. This was soon cleared. When he reached the gate, he stood for a second and looked around him, as if endeavouring to penetrate the darkness; but all was calm and silent. In spite of himself, the General was seized with that vague fear which takes possession of the most courageous man when in face of the unknown. But General Bustamente, whom the reader has no doubt recognized, was too old a soldier to suffer himself to be mastered long by an impression, however strong it might be; with him this had lasted but an instant, and he almost immediately recovered his usual coolness.

"What the devil! am I afraid?" he murmured, with an ironical smile, and going boldly up to the gate, he knocked three times at equal intervals with the pummel of his sword. In an instant his arms were seized by invisible hands, a bandage was placed over his eyes, and a voice, faint as a breath, murmured in his ear —

"Make no resistance, twenty poniards are at your breast; at the first cry, at the least opposition, you are a dead man. Reply categorically to our questions."

"All these threats are needless," the General replied, in a calm voice; "as I came here of my own free will, I can have no intention of resisting – ask, and I will answer."

"What do you come to seek here?" the voice said.

"The Dark-Hearts."

"Are you ready to appear in their presence?"