"I told you, my dear cousin, to be careful with that brazero. Luckily there is no moon, the night is cloudy, and this carrion may recover his senses in the cool Alameda."
Pale as death, bewildered and terrified, Ignez gazed on the prostrate figure, and on those features which seemed to be convulsed by the throes of death.
Don Perez tied the lasso under the arms of Pedro, and dragging his body to the balcony, after carefully ascertaining that there was no one in the street, with no small exertion (for the lad was slight though wiry) he hoisted the bulky intruder over the iron railing, and lowered him to the ground—not very tenderly, perhaps. He then dropped the lasso after its proprietor, carefully closed and secured the window-sashes, kissed his passive cousin, and bidding her good night, retired.
At that moment the great bell of the church of La Campagnia (which was already beginning to be lighted up with its countless lamps, for the great festival of the morrow) tolled the hour of twelve. Every stroke sounded like a knell in the soul of Ignez, and she burst into tears.
She was guiltless, and he had not suspected her; yet in her innocent heart she felt terrified like one who unwittingly has committed a great crime. Oh, that Padre Eizagiuerro were here, that she might confide it all to him, and solicit his advice!
Was that the man who had so lately poured his daring love speeches into her ears, and who had striven to embrace her—he whom she had seen Perez dragging forth, with an air of such mingled anger and satisfaction—dying or dead?
She dared not peep forth to satisfy the curiosity that consumed her. Had she done so, about one hour after Pedro was lowered over the balcony, she might have seen him walking slowly away, leaning on the arm of Zuares.
The cool night breeze in the open Alameda had revived him; but the fumes of the brazero in that little closet were nearly being the means of cutting short the career of Pedro Barradas, and so saving us, and many others, a vast deal of trouble.
On this night, the sleep of Ignez was far from being a peaceful one.
Perez slept like a dormouse. He was happy, and his first thought in the morning was to open sundry letters and telegrams from Valparaiso.