"Now, señores," the young man said, "you no longer need me—good-bye; gallop your hardest, and I wish you a pleasant journey."
They dashed away like a whirlwind, and soon disappeared in the darkness.
"How they race!" the young man said laughingly; "I fancy don Melchior will have some difficulty in catching them."
And wrapping himself in his cloak, he returned on foot to the palace of the government, where he resided. The two men who accompanied the young lady were Dominique and Leo Carral. They galloped the whole night. At sunrise they reached an abandoned rancho, where several persons were awaiting them. Doña Dolores joyfully recognized among them don Adolfo and the count. Surrounded by these devoted friends, she had nothing more to fear. She was saved. The journey was a continued maze, but her joy was immense when she arrived in Mexico, and under the escort of her brave friends entered the small house, where every preparation had been made to receive her. She fell weeping into the arms of doña María and doña Carmen. Don Adolfo and his friends discreetly retired, leaving the ladies to their confidences. The count, in order to watch more closely over the young lady, hired a house in the same street, and offered to share it with Dominique, who eagerly accepted it. It was arranged, in order not to arouse suspicion or attract attention to the house of the three ladies, that the young men should only pay them short visits at rather lengthened intervals. As for don Adolfo, the young lady had scarcely been installed in his house ere he recommenced his wandering life, and once more became invisible. Sometimes after nightfall he would suddenly turn up at the young men's house, of which Leo Carral had undertaken the management, declaring that as the count was going to marry his young mistress, he was his master, and he regarded himself as his majordomo; the count, not to grieve the worthy servant, had left him carte blanche in these rare appearances. The adventurer conversed for some time on indifferent topics with the two friends, and then left them, after recommending them to be vigilant.
Matters went on well for some days; doña Dolores, under the beneficial impression of happiness, had resumed all her girlish gaiety and confidence; she and Carmen twittered like hummingbirds from morn till night in every corner of the house; doña María herself, yielding to the influence of this frank and simple joy, seemed quite rejuvenated, and at times her earnest features were even illumined by a smile.
The count and his friend, by their visits, which, in spite of don Jaime's advice, became gradually more frequent and long, produced a variety in the calm monotonous existence of the three voluntary recluses, who never set foot in the street, and were in utter ignorance of what was taking place around them.
One evening when the count was playing a game of chess with Dominique for the sake of killing time, and the two young men who took but slight interest in the game were sitting face to face, ostensibly arranging clever schemes, but in reality thinking of other things, there was a violent knocking at the street door.
"Who the deuce can come at this hour?" they both exclaimed with a start.
"It is past midnight," Dominique said.
"If it is not Oliver," the count remarked, "I cannot think who it is."