CHAPTER IV.
A scamper into the Camp of Buenos Ayres is one of the greatest treats that the citizens of that town can enjoy. True, there is nothing to interest you in the scenery, nothing to admire in the goodness of the roads, and nothing to guide you in your journey but trees; still there is an indefinable charm in galloping with a good horse and a lively companion over the boundless green plain. With “the blue above” and “the green below” you rove free and unconfined—the fresh balmy air revivifying the blood which the rapid and easy motion sends thrilling through the whole frame. You feel etherialized. Without bounds to your progress or your prospects, away you go. No trace of art here to mar the simplicity of nature. The Arabs never were and never will be slaves, and now you are the Arabs of the plains—hurrah! hurrah!
Tom Thorne and Richard Griffin appeared to consider themselves as Arabs of the plain, calculating from the rapidity with which they were scampering over the ground, clearing their way through herds of oxen, sheep, and horses, with long whips and loud huzzas.
“Where, in the name of Nimrod, are we tearing to, Thorne?” said Griffin after a pause. “Sure we are out-stripping the wind; for a moment ago it was in our face, and now it is on our back.”
“We are going to Mendoza’s country-house,” said Thorne, “to have some bantering with the ladies after our canter, and to let that awkward scrape of last night blow over, and be laughed at before I go back.—You have never been in the Camp before?” inquired Thorne.
“Never.”
“Then you have a great pleasure before you. A few days in the Camp refreshes one like a month’s sea-bathing. The air is so fresh, and every thing wears such a simple holiday aspect that it almost makes you forget that you are a sinner, and throw off bad habits, rise with the lark, drink milk, marry a wife, and become a patriarch.”
“Well done, Thorne! and so it may yet.”
“Then, you can ride and dance without getting weary, drink without getting seedy, and eat innumerable beef-steaks for breakfast without mustard; nay, you can even relish water without brandy, and sleep without cigars.”
“Love and beef, Thorne, versus cigars and brandy. You alternate between town and country till you resemble a rich rowley-powley pudding, solids and sweets, revolving round and round each other, making a most delicious tout-en-semble.”
While our friends thus talk and canter to the place of their destination, let us take the liberty of introducing ourselves.
The house of Louis Mendoza was situated on a rising ground on the banks of the “River,” of which it commanded a beautiful prospect. There was a large garden attached to it, adorned with all the flowers which the country produced, most of them at that season in the full bloom and vigour of spring. Fruit-trees, both of the northern and southern hemisphere, from the tropic and temperate zones, diffused sweet perfumes from their blossoms; and vines, peaches, and orange trees were already decked with the budding promises of a rich harvest. Summer-houses were there, woven into shape with creepers and ever-greens. Birds of the tropics, in large aviaries, nearly invisible from being formed of green-painted wire, lent the splendour of their plumage to enrich a scene which the songsters of the air delighted to enliven with their music.
Beware of that garden, Tom Thorne, in the evenings when your heart is soft. Ride not with the ladies over that velvet lawn when the flush of the morning’s sun is reflected from their lovely faces, Tom Thorne. You are lost to the bachelor world for ever, Tom, if you be seduced to wander through these lovely woods with the ringlets of Anita Mendoza playing round your manly shoulder; and as for the summer-houses, if ever you enter them let it be with a book or a cigar only; mind that, Tom, mind that. Anita Mendoza might be sixteen or seventeen, Mariquita eighteen or nineteen; both were beautiful, and possessed of all the graces and accomplishments of the country. The contour of the features, of Mariquita might be more regularly beautiful than that of Anita. She was more of a blonde, too; her eye was beautiful and bright, her figure graceful and elegant, but still it would strike you that you had seen others as fair and graceful. She was a beauty; of that there was no doubt, but a beauty too much resembling the style of her sister, to bear a favourable contrast with her, and yet not sufficiently distinct to establish a separate and independent claim. But how shall we describe Anita Mendoza? She was the mistress of grace and elegance, for they followed her every step and attended her every movement; you were a slave at her mercy the moment you saw that dark black liquid eye, whether it beamed in kindness, flashed in raillery, melted in sympathy, or sparkled with delight from under its long dark dangerous eyelashes. To be in the presence of Anita Mendoza was to be in an enchanted circle. When that eye was upon you, your own identity was lost; your soul was lit up by the beams that flashed from that magic eye, and rays of love or envy, mirth or folly, were reflected back to the source from which they sprang. Let none despise the theory of animal magnetism; beside Anita Mendoza, your heart throbbed, your pulse played, and your soul thought in unison with hers. Such were your feelings when under the influence of the syren, but only then; for well you knew that that eye flashed or melted, and that smile played and that lip pouted, as brightly and pertly, for others, one and all, as for your own dear envious self. Beside her, she was your queen and empress; away, she was a little minx, a sweet little flirt. To sum up, in dancing she was a fairy, in singing a cherub, and far or near an enchanting, bewitching creature.
Luis Mendoza, the father of these ladies, was a rare old Spaniard. He had travelled a good deal in Europe, especially in England, where he had acquired not only some knowledge of the language but also a predilection for its convivial habits; and brandy and water had more charms for him in a cool evening, than matte or eau sucrée. He had early lost his helpmate, and, freed from this check on his convivial habits, it required little encouragement on his part to keep his house constantly full of bon vivants to assist him at the duties of the table, and gallants to amuse his daughters in the sala; and more of his gallants and bon vivants were to be found among the Anglo-Saxons than among the natives. Thus were Mariquita and Anita Mendoza accustomed from their earliest years to the language of adulation; and from having the duties of a household thus early thrust upon each, there was less of maidenly reserve, a little more of maidenly coquetry, with a dash more of masculine character, than in other circumstances would have been becoming at such tender years.
These ladies were seated alone in an elegantly fitted up sala, the elder busy with her needle at some fancy work, and the other idly and listlessly hurrying her soft white little dimpled fingers over the keys of a rich-toned piano—to a well-known air in South America, the words of which imply that the singer never, never, never will get married—
“No no no no quiero,
No quiero casarme
Es mejor, es mejor,
Ser soltéra
Siempre paseandera
Del mundo
Del mundo gozar.
Amantes amantes
Constantes se encuentran
Muy pocos al dia
Con cara tan fresca
Como una violéta
Y con ojos tan
Brillantes a mi gusto.
“Well, Mariquita,” said the young lady, throwing aside the music, “I admire the patience you can bestow upon that endless sampler, when you must feel as tired and exhausted as I am.”
“Of course, Anita, after that ball, sampler work is rather tame and tedious; but what shall we do?”
“I am afraid we shall have nobody out here to-day,” said Anita, with a kind of suppressed yawn.
“I see how it is, Anita; you are wearying already for even a languid compliment to those flashing eyes of yours.”
“Depend upon it, Mariquita, that my eyes could stand no comparison to your lips with any man of taste.”
“How did you relish Bruin’s hugs last night?” retorted the elder.
“Oh, the dear Bruin! I could not forbear hugging him now in return, were he here to enliven us. And gracias a Dios, here he is!”
Scarcely were the words uttered, when the portly person and beaming face of Tom Thorne stood before them.
“Welcome, welcome! Mr Thorne,” said Mariquita. “Anita has just been stating that Mr Bruin’s attentions last night were so very pressing that she considers herself indebted to him a hug in return.”
“Miss Anita shall find Mr Bruin a very pressing creditor for the liquidation of that debt,” said our hero, advancing towards her; and in the full playfulness of their character, both girls seized the gratified bachelor by the hands as if he had been an overgrown playmate. At this moment Mr Griffin presented himself, and the ladies hastily, but without agitation, assumed the attitude of polite and attentive hostesses.
“Permit me, ladies,” said Thorne, “to introduce my friend Mr Griffin, who I have no doubt regrets not being yet entitled to the warm and frank reception extended to old friends in the Camp of Buenos Ayres.”
“We are happy to see you in the Camp, Mr Griffin,” replied the elder sister with great courtesy. “We have been longing for some company all day, and consider ourselves very fortunate in being favoured with a visit from Mr Thorne, and any friend of his.”
“I consider myself fortunate in being introduced to you by Mr Thorne at a time when our company promises to be agreeable to you.”
“I hope you are accustomed to our long, and rather fatiguing rides in the Camp.”
“I assure you, I am amply repaid already, miss, for the fatigue we have undergone, by the beauty and richness of every thing I see near and around me,” said Griffin giving a kind of circuitous bow.
“As you are accustomed to the beauty and freshness of the scenery,” said Mariquita with an arch smile, “may I offer you a glass of your favourite champagne, Mr Thorne?”
“You are very kind, Señorita, to be so attentive to my favourite tastes. A glass of champagne will be very refreshing after the ride.”
“Or shall it be your favourite brandy and water?” edged in the little wicked Anita, with a twinkle in the eye which took away every vestige of satire that the question might otherwise have implied when addressed to our hero.
“The brandy and water will be fully as good, Miss Anita,” replied Tom, “if you would brisk it up with a few sparkles from these eyes of yours.”
“A truce to such bubbles of fancy,” said Mariquita. “Which shall it be, gentlemen?”
“Mr Thorne or I could be happy with either,” said Griffin; “but pray let it be champagne, and then we may hope that you will partake.”
“Bravo, bravo, Griffin! champagne be it.”
“Pray, ladies, is not the ‘Patron’ here?”
“Oh yes!” replied Anita, “but he is not likely to be back till late; he is taking a ride over the chacra with Señor Le Brun.”
An involuntary start escaped Thorne at the mention of that name.
“What ails you, Mr Thorne?” cried Anita.
“Nothing, Anita—nothing. Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting him this morning already. But I see we have interrupted your amusements at the piano, which I trust will be renewed after our refreshment.”
That start was not lost upon Anita, though she affected not to notice it.
Refreshments, music, and gay conversation passed off the time most pleasantly, until the arrival of Luis Mendoza and his companion.
And now let us leave the merry party to enjoy themselves, and sally out to introduce ourselves to the old gentleman and his companion.
Felipe Le Brun was a Creole, of about six or eight-and-twenty: his father a Jerseyman, his mother a native of Buenos Ayres. He was what may be called a respectable merchant broker, who bought and sold for others as well as for himself. His knowledge of most European languages, his activity, intelligence, and business habits were great advantages to him as a broker, and as such he was extensively employed. Luis Mendoza was in every respect a different character from Le Brun: the one social to a fault, the other temperate to a degree. Frankness, honesty, stout good-heartedness, and aversion to business, were the characteristics of Mendoza. Le Brun was one of the new-school men of business—sharp, acute, and active. Mendoza was an extensive landed proprietor, and Le Brun was the agent through whom all his sales of produce were effected. It was under Le Brun’s guidance that Mendoza entered into those investments in which he delighted to believe that he was growing rich; and so he was, too, as long as Le Brun’s speculations were successful also. A more acute and careful man of business might perhaps have had some doubts as to whether or not Le Brun was not trading on Mendoza’s capital. This, however, was enough to satisfy the old gentleman, that, whenever his accounts were presented to him, they were always very flattering, especially in the perspective, and that when he wanted money, he could have it to any amount from Le Brun, who was thus in a manner both his agent and his banker: and why should he not be? since it was all but arranged that he should be his son-in-law. Le Brun had long paid court to Anita Mendoza; and a more accomplished suitor there was not to be found within the range of the city. Polite, attentive, and gallant—scrupulously neat in attire—a perfect master of all the petits soins of the drawing-room—and expert in all elegant triflings permissible in the laisser aller of the sala, Don Felipe Le Brun would have been a formidable rival against any worshipper of kid or eau de Cologne, that ever smirked and simpered over a Brussels carpet, and whose accomplishments were confined to carving a merry-thought, sighing on a flute, or tenderly composing a sonnet to the shadow or the shoe-tie of his lady-love. Add to all these accomplishments the recommendation of a father,[10] and none need be surprised that he was a favoured suitor of Anita Mendoza.
Such was Don Felipe Le Brun. We have given every characteristic except that of honesty of principle; and yet there could not have been more upright, honourable principles than those with which Le Brun first commenced and flourished in business. He had every requisite, and all the knowledge necessary for business on the largest and most extensive scale, and every accomplishment that could adorn the active, and solace the retired life of a gentleman. And in such uprightness of conduct Le Brun might, and most probably would, have continued under any ordinary circumstances. But, alas! his very accomplishments proved his ruin. He lived under one of the most suspicious, inquisitive, corrupt, and tyrannical governments that ever existed. The suspicious tyranny of Buenos Ayres extended even into the private and domestic relationship of life; and to effect this, spies of every grade and quality were employed. Now Le Brun, being of foreign extraction, and yet a native born and bred, moving in good society, being a respectable merchant, and in a line of business that brought him in daily contact with every moneyed man in the city, and even made him more or less acquainted with their means, resources, and transactions, was in every way suited to be an admirable agent of Rosas; and it was determined that he should be so, cost what it might in time, money, and political influence. And well the secret agents of Rosas knew how to lure the ambitious, tempt the effeminate, force the timid, bribe the sordid, and flatter the vain.
Slow and insidious were the approaches made to undermine the honour of Le Brun. No difficulty was ever experienced by him in shipping gold or silver without permits. A passport for a friend in trouble was always at his command; his goods were the first to pass through the custom-house, and the first intelligence that could affect paper currency and exchange was always communicated to Le Brun. Such were some of the substantial proofs of favour, and still more numerous were the polite attentions showered on the intended agent of tyranny.
Now, when an individual finds himself thus highly favoured, without any exertion used, or any return required on his part, he becomes naturally disinclined to believe any reports to the prejudice of those who treat him so well; and disposed to attribute the blame more to the complainant than the party complained of; or, wrapping himself up in his own selfishness and self-security, to go upon the maxim of “praising the ford as he finds it.” So it was with Le Brun: from being a passive supporter of Rosas, he was led on to be his justifier. He had so often been indebted to the good services of government officials, that he considered himself indebted to them personally, and then politically—and then—facilis descensus—poor Le Brun!
Luis Mendoza had long been an object of avaricious suspicion to the government. He was rich, fond of foreigners—intelligent. All these were crimes; and it was known that he held correspondence with the friends of the enemy, if not with Rivera himself. Be this as it may, he was no partisan of the government; and the maxim of Rosas is, “those that are not for me are against me.” Mendoza was a marked man, and Le Brun was set to mark him; and, observe this, others marked Le Brun. Oh, how he now loathed his position! the suitor of his intended victim’s daughter—the friend, the private friend, of the very man whose every motion he was to watch and report—to betray the friend who reposed in him implicit trust. Can the ingenuity of tyranny go further than this? Le Brun knew well that Mendoza had held correspondence with the Unitarian party, who were opposed to Rosas, but this he never reported. He knew well that Mendoza hated the tyranny and policy of the Federals, and that the Unitarians expected to find in him a rich and influential supporter, if ever their party predominated; and this he did report, because he knew full well the government were aware of it. Thus did Le Brun seek a middle course, until he almost began to fancy that he was suspected himself; and thus, thoroughly disgusted with his position, he determined at last to free himself from his ignominious espionage, give Mendoza warning of his perilous situation, and, when every thing was arranged for his escape from the country, he would then take the credit for giving information, when it would be too late. Thus he would gain time to arrange his own complicated affairs, seek out Mendoza in his exile, and fulfil his dearest hopes by marrying Anita Mendoza.
Such was the scheme which Le Brun had formed to extricate himself from the troubled waters in which he perceived himself beginning to founder; and in this scheme he would no doubt have succeeded, had not the accidental incarceration of our honest friend Tom Thorne, and the bold freedom of his speech before the magistrate, forced him to commence his scheme at once and prematurely, if he wished to avoid the suspicion of friends whom he wished to save, or employers whom he wished to deceive. And with this view, the moment he was free from the presence of the juez de paz, he flew to the chacra of Mendoza.
“And how came you to know of the body that was found opposite my door?” said Mendoza to Le Brun, as they were riding together.
“Why, sir, Mr Thorne with a friend encountered it on coming from a party in the evening. They encountered some of—of the ‘Masorcheros,’” said Le Brun, (looking all round him, and whispering the phrase;) “and taking fright, I suppose, they requested to be taken to the police office for security; and before the magistrate he told what he had seen.”
“And how happened you to be there?” urged Mendoza.
“Sir,” replied the other, mingling truth and falsehood with great tact, “I had heard, nay knew, that the government were suspicious of you: the number of massacres the preceding night alarmed me for your safety. Making an excuse of a criminal complaint against a servant, I repaired to the juez de paz, to find out, if possible, upon what grounds their suspicious were founded. Thus we were engaged when Thorne entered. Whether he heard your name mentioned I know not, but Mr Thorne, sir, is suspicious of me. Yes, sir, I verily believe that Mr Thorne, in his jealousy—yes, it must be jealousy of my favour in the eyes of your daughter, that makes Thorne suspect me. Good God! Mendoza, to what have I fallen when I should be suspected by an idle, champagne-swilling babbler, of betraying the man to whom I am so much indebted, who, I may say, has made me what I am, and who has it in his power to make me happy or miserable for life. Oh, sir, sir! what a wretched country this is, when one learns to distrust even their best friends.”
“Come, come, Le Brun, not so bad as that yet. But, Don Felipe, have I not often told you that you were in too high favour with these hypocritical cut-throat miscreants in office?”
“And if I have found favour, which I never sought for, have not you reaped the benefit more than me? What have I to fear from them? I, who am supposed to be of their party, rat them! Should your skins have passed the custom-house? Could Mendoza’s gold in Mendoza’s name have been shipped to invest abroad? Could Mendoza, the Unitarian, have procured passports for the Unitarian brothers or compadres? And now, sir, at this very moment I am seeking to do for you what you have often asked me to do for others. That remark of yours, Mendoza, has nearly driven me distracted.”
“Don Felipe, forgive me! we are too much bound up together for me to suspect you now. Have you not the promise of my daughter’s hand? have you not the command of all my means? I believe, I know that I am an object of suspicion. I know that, at the present time, the miscreants stand at no obstacles; that my money would be instruments to strengthen their hands. I know you have saved my friends, and I believe you are anxious to save me. Forgive me for expressing my sentiments of horror against those who render it necessary that honest men and quiet citizens should seek of security at the hands of others.”
“Ay, sir, and these others not only thereby risk their own safety, but may be branded as traitors for so doing.”
“So, Don Felipe, you think that body on my pavement was a warning for me?”
“No, Don Luis, it was not intended as a warning for you, but you are intended for the same fate.”
“You can have no proof of that, Don Felipe.”
“No, Don Luis, I have no proof of that; but those who ordered such deeds only to inspire terror, will not scruple at higher victims for greater advantages. Thorne’s bold accusation, I may call it of indifference or neglect on the part of the magistrate, and the way your name was alluded to, will protect you from open attack. The prison will be your first doom—I shudder to think of what may follow. Thorne is a brave fellow, but he was mad to brave them as he did. There is not a Masorchero in the city who does not thirst for his blood. Thorne knows this and defies them. I hate him for his suspicions, but yet, Mendoza, I admire him—with a hundred men like him, this city would not now be a nest of cut-throats. Yes,” continued Le Brun, who felt pungently the whole truth of what he said, “their spies would be ashamed to show their degraded heads, Masorcheros afraid, ay, afraid to execute the hated commissions intrusted to them, and an end put to the whole brutal cowardly system, which none can more detest and deplore than I do. But to business. To-morrow morning you must come to town; to avoid suspicion, let there be a small party at the house in the evening. I return to town to-night I shall busy myself to-night and to-morrow in having every penny of your capital and debts secured, transferred, or in some way rendered intangible to your persecutors, and recoverable in better times to yourself. Stop, stop—don’t interrupt me. As soon as possible I will arrange my own affairs, and then, my dear sir, I shall bid adieu to this city, which is now doomed, and join you in your exile, there to claim the reward of all my exertions in the hand of Anita. Shall it not be so?—yes or no!—time is precious, time flies?”
“It shall, Le Brun—my hand upon it. Arrange my affairs as best you may, I rely upon you for every thing.”
“Now, then, let us proceed to the house, and talk slowly over the details.”
The gay inmates of the house were disturbed in the midst of their mirth and music by the entrance of a servant, announcing that her father desired to speak to Señorita Anita.
“Daughter,” said Luis Mendoza, as she entered his presence with a smiling face, and a courteous bow to Le Brun; “my dearest daughter, I am sorry to be the bearer of intelligence which will throw a shade of gloom over your happy face. Are you prepared to hear of sad truths and dismal forebodings?”
“Yes, dearest father, I am prepared. We are now surrounded by our best friends, keep me no longer in dark suspense—I am prepared to hear every misfortune which I may share with you.”
“The cloud of misfortune,” interrupted Le Brun, “now hovering over our heads, Anita, will, I predict, only prove a summer thunder-storm, which may sweep every thing exposed and unprotected before it, during its first burst, but pass harmless by those who have watched its coming and prepared for its approach.”
“Daughter—I have long been suspected by the government of disaffection to their cause; they are now hard pressed, and no means which terror, tyranny, avarice, or suspicion can suggest, are left untried to support their failing cause, and crush that of their rivals; and now they seek my life and fortune.”
“Merciful heaven! And what harm, have you done the government, that they should single you out for a victim?”
“The question,” said Le Brun, “is not what harm your father has done; he is guiltless of any active opposition to the government, but much may be effected for their cause by confiscation of his property, much terror may be struck into dubious adherents by—by disposing of his person. Dearest Anita, I do not wish to terrify you unnecessarily. Pray lean on your father’s arm, love; you look pale and exhausted.”
“Alas! alas! this old arm, Anita, will soon be no longer able to shelter and support the dear girls who now cling to it for protection. Midnight assassins prowl round the city for victims. Emboldened by impunity, higher prey will be fixed upon, and then—”
“No, no, father, you shall never suffer. I will seek the tyrant’s den myself, throw myself on my knees before him, and implore him by his hopes of salvation, by the memory of the departed wife of his bosom. I will take his own daughter with me, to join our united prayers for mercy on the innocent head of a gray-haired father. We will give him your money, father, let him have your lands, and houses; we, have many friends in other parts, we will rid him of our presence; Mariquita, you, and I, father, will seek some other country, and save him from the crime of dishonouring gray hairs. No, father, he shall not, dare not touch you.”
“My noble girl,” said Le Brun, with a feeling of self-reproach at an instance of energy and decision so superior to his own, “I admire your heroic resolution; I pay honour to the purity and elevation of your sentiment; but let me, who unfortunately know too much of their villany, assure you that the tears and prayers of youth, innocence, and beauty, would draw down the scoffs of a brutal soldiery, and would have no other effect on their master than to set his quick wits at work how to deceive you, and hold you forth as a bait, yes, as a bribe, to reward the treachery of a foe, or retain the services of an ally.”
“Alas! that is too true, my dearest child—let me perish sooner than risk the honour of my children. Felipe Le Brun, Anita, is I believe the only man who can save us. He has influence with the government, all my floating capital is in his hands: I have long known, and placed confidence in him: it is he who has informed us of our present danger, and is prepared to assist us out of it. He has long loved you, Anita, and I believe he is not indifferent to you. I have this day promised him your hand in marriage, and given him the right as my intended son-in-law, and the heir of half my fortune, to secure what of my property he can on such short notice. Have I not done right, my love?”
“Stop, father! stop!” cried Anita, labouring under the utmost agitation, “we have other friends as well as Señor Le Brun, and God knows we will need them all. What if the man who disregards the petitions of innocence for mercy, and despises the rights of property and laws of justice, with respect to the old and harmless, should as suddenly turn round on the young and active, should he become afraid of its power, or jealous of its exercise? Mr Thorne, who is bold, generous, and a foreigner, is here in the next room, let us ask his advice and assistance. What say you, Señor Le Brun?”
“Certainly, let Mr Thorne be called in for advice, if Señor Mendoza has no objections.”
“I do object, my dear child. Mr Thorne has been the cause—unwittingly, I allow, but still he has been the cause—of hurrying on our fate. He has already,” said the old man, echoing the sentiments of Le Brun, “rendered himself obnoxious to the whole body of Masorcheros. None, my dear child, can save our property if it be not Le Brun: if the government be resolved to push things to extremities, Le Brun is the man whom I would trust.”
“Anita,” said Le Brun, earnestly laying her hand in his, “cheer up, my brave girl—better days await us all yet. I flatter myself that I have influence with the government—how acquired it boots not now to state: that influence shall be exerted to the utmost to secure you father’s interests and safety. This is a strange time, Anita, to talk of love; often—often have I longed for a more favourable opportunity. I seek not to urge my suit by my power to save your father’s life—I protest against thus bargaining for your priceless affections. I am struggling to merit your love, not to buy it. When your father’s life and property are secured, I shall be in misery till I join you in your exile, and lay my fate and fortune at your feet. Say, dearest, shall we then forget all our past misfortunes, and seek for future happiness in the society of each other?”
“Say yes, my child—give him your promise.”
“When my father’s life is saved by YOU, I will,” and she sunk exhausted in her father’s arms.
“Adieu, then, dearest. Adieu, Mendoza, for the present—hasta manana. I now hurry to town to arrange your affairs as I best may.” And Don Felipe Le Brun withdrew, a happier man than he had long been, ay and a better.
It may well be conceived that the evening, which on this occasion might have passed off in a lively manner, was dull in the extreme. Every one felt embarrassed: they soon retired, and next morning they all found their way back to the city.