At length, after numberless difficulties, and wasting at least thrice the time he would have employed under other circumstances, he reached at about ten in the evening, the house where he lodged. He had spent about two hours in covering less than six hundred yards.
On arriving at the mesón, the count proceeded first to the corral to see his horse, to which he gave, with his own hand, two trusses of alfalfa; then, after ordering that he should be called at one o'clock, if by accident (which was most improbable) he retired to his cuarto to take a few hours' rest.
The count intended to start at such an early hour in order to avoid the heat of the day, and travel more quickly. Besides, after his lengthened conversation with Don Sylva, the noble adventurer was not sorry to find himself alone, in order to go over in his mind all the happy things that had happened during the past evening.
From the moment he had landed in America the count had enjoyed—to employ a familiar term—a shameful good luck: everything succeeded with him. In a few months his fortune might be thus summed up:—A colony founded under the most favourable auspices, and already on the road of progress and improvement: while keeping his nationality intact—that is to say, his liberty of action and an inviolable neutrality—he was in the service of the Mexican Government, as captain of a free corps of one hundred and fifty devoted men, with whom he could attempt, if not carry out, the wildest enterprises. In the last place, he was on the point of marrying the daughter of a man twenty times a millionaire, as far as he had opportunity of judging; and what in no way spoiled the affair, his betrothed was delightful.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, according the standpoint our readers may think in judging of our hero, this man, worn out by the enervating eccentricities of Parisian life, no longer felt his heart beat from any emotion of joy, sorrow or fear: all was dead within him. He was exactly the man wanted to succeed in the country to which accident had sent him. In the great del of life he had begun in America he had an immense advantage over his adversaries—that of never allowing himself to be directed by passion; and consequently, owing to his unalterable coolness, he was enabled to evade the pitfalls incessantly laid for him, over which he triumphed without appearing to notice them.
After what we have said, we have hardly need to add that he did not love the woman whose hand he sought. She was young and lovely—so much the better. Had she been old and ugly he would have accepted her hand all the same. What did he care? He only sought one thing in marriage—a brilliant and envied position. In fine, the Count de Lhorailles was all calculation. We have made a mistake, however, in affirming that he had not a weak point. He was ambitious. This passion, one of the most violent of those with which Heaven has afflicted the human race, was possibly the only link by which the count was still attached to humanity. Ambition in him had reached such a pitch, especially during the last few months—it had taken such an immense development—that he would have sacrificed all to it.
Now let us see what was the object of this man's ambition. What future did he dream of? It is probable that we may explain this to the reader in fuller detail presently.
The count went to bed; that is to say, after wrapping himself carefully in his zarapé, he stretched himself on the leathern frame which throughout Mexico is the substitute for beds, whose existence is completely ignored. So soon as he lay down he fell asleep, with that conscience peculiar to the adventurer whose every hour is claimed beforehand, and who, having but a few moments to grant to rest, hastens to profit by them, and sleeps as the Spaniards say, a la pierna suelta, which we may translate nearly by sleeping with closed fists.
At one in the morning the count, as he had promised, awoke, lighted the cebo which served him as a candle, arranged his toilette to a certain extent, carefully examined his pistols and rifle, and assured himself that his sabre left the scabbard easily; then, when all these various preparations, indispensable for every traveller careful for his safety, were ended, he opened the door of the cuarto and proceeded to the corral.
His horse was eating heartily, and gaily finishing its alfalfa. The count himself gave it a measure of oats, which he saw it dispose of with neighs of pleasure, and then put on the saddle. In Mexico, horsemen, whatever the class of society to which they belong, never leave to others the care of attending to their steeds: for in those semi-savage countries the life of the rider depends nearly always upon the vigour and speed of his animal.