“Grandmother, my dearest!” she murmured[murmured] in a low voice, yet full of agony; “surely he will not tear me from thee! Oh, rather may I die with thee!”
“Oh, by the saints,” cried the voice of Doña Rita in her ear, “for my child’s sake, Chata, rise and fly to him! It is thou only who canst save us. What did I tell thee in El Toro? Doña Isabel has ruined us! but for her foolhardiness in sending aid to Gonzales all might have been well; but that has brought the wrath of Ramirez upon Rafael!” She turned toward her prostrate mother-in-law, with something very like fury, clenching her hand and crying, “Ah! ah! your clever deception will not seem so happy a one when you wake to find it has killed your son! That is what you deserve! You deceived even me. Do you think had I known, I would for all the favor promised me have played mother to the brat of Leon Vallé?”
The women ceased their cries to listen to this frantic outburst, which though but Greek to them, had a sound of mystery, which for the moment deadened their ears to the increasing tumult without. “Leon Vallé!” said one in an awe-struck voice,—“that was the Señora’s wicked brother.”
“Leon Vallé!” echoed Chata, a new light dawning upon her. “Maria Sanctissima, can it be?”
“What more natural?” cried Doña Rita, testily. “Was he ever weary of extorting some proof of Doña Isabel’s devotion? But Dios mio, there was to be an end of her infatuation! Had he not killed her child? What better chance for vengeance was she to find than to conceal, destroy, every trace of his, when with devilish mockery he thrust it upon her? But then he might have known it was like thrusting the lamb into the jaws of the wolf. On my faith, girl, it maddens me to see you standing there motionless, when it is as if the legions of Satanas himself were loose. Go! go! I say, to soothe him. Entreat him to restrain his troops. The house will be sacked. Who knows what horrors may follow!”
“I will not go to him,” said Chata, slowly, a red spot burning upon either cheek, her eyes dark with horror. “If he is indeed the man you say, will he not defend the home of his sister? If I am his child, will he not claim me? If he does, I must submit; but go to him—No! To save the hacienda—what has Doña Isabel done for me? To save my life—no!”
XXXVIII.
In the few moments during which this scene had passed, the administrador at a sign from the General had been half forced—though he made no attempt at resistance—to the lower corridor. Thence he followed his captor to a dining-room, where a servant with terrified alacrity was already bringing in cups of chocolate for the breakfast, while a woman with a tray of small loaves of sweet-bread in her hands dropped it incontinently at sight of the dreaded Ramirez. He laughed, throwing himself into a chair, and looking around him with the furtive glance with which men involuntarily regard places or persons connected with memories distasteful or horrifying. There was an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe at one end of the apartment, with a small lamp burning before it. He crossed himself, and muttered an Ave as he looked at it; then pointed to a second chair and the cups of chocolate.
“It is early, Don Rafael,” he said lightly, “but I have a soldier’s appetite, which the fresh air has sharpened,—and you know the saying, that a stomach at rest makes an active brain; so accompany me, I entreat, in breaking the morning fast, and then let us to business.” And with a show of indifference, which imposed far better upon his followers, who made an interested throng around the door, than upon Don Rafael, he tasted the chocolate he had drawn to his side.
The administrador remained standing, though the two soldiers, who had each held an arm, released their grasp and stepped back. Disconcerted by the thought that in his dishabille he could scarcely present a dignified figure, Don Rafael still maintained his composure sufficiently to refuse the proffered refreshment with the air of a man who questions the right of another to play the part of host,—assuming, in fact, toward the intruder rather the attitude of personal than of political hostility.