“The Saints defend us, Don Vicente! The sight of you is like rain in May,—it will bless the whole year! Heaven grant your followers leave untouched the harvest of new maize! Don Rafael would go out of his senses if it were broached and trampled on by this rabble,—begging your Grace’s pardon a thousand times!”
Don Vicente, as the young man was called, laughed as he stamped his feet on the brick pavement until his spurs and the chains and buttons on his riding suit clanked again,—though he looked half sadly, half furtively around.
“Have no fear, Pedro good friend, the men have their orders. The General, José Ramirez, is not to be trifled with;” and he glanced at his companion, a man older than himself, but still in the prime of life, who had also dismounted and was shaking hands with Don Rafael, with many polite expressions of pleasure at meeting the courageous and prudent administrador of Tres Hermanos.
These compliments were returned with rather pallid lips by Don Rafael, who however upon being recognized by Don Vicente, who advanced to embrace him with the cordiality of a friend, though with something of the condescension of a superior, regained his composure with the rapidity natural to a man who having fancied himself in some peril finds himself under the protection of a powerful and generous patron. He hastened in the name of Doña Isabel to place everything the hacienda contained at the disposal of the visitors, making a mental reservation of the new maize and sundry fine horses that happened to be in the courtyards.
Chinita, who had pushed her way through the crowd of children and half-grown idlers that had been attracted to the court, and were gazing in silent and opened-mouthed wonderment and admiration at the imposing personage called the General José Ramirez, was so absorbed in the contemplation of his half-military, half-equestrian bravery of riding trousers of stamped leather trimmed with silver buttons, and wide felt hat gorgeous with gold and silver cords and lace, his epauletted jacket, and scarlet sash bristling with silver-handled pistols and stilletto, that she took no heed when a servant came to lead away the charger upon which the object of her admiration had been mounted, and so narrowly escaped being knocked down and trampled upon.
“Have a care thou!” cried Don Vicente, as he sprang forward and clutched the child by the arm, drawing her out of danger, while a score of voices—the General’s perhaps the most indifferent among them—reiterated epithets of abuse to the servant and admonition to the child. In the midst of the commotion, Don Rafael conducted the two officers to rooms which were hastily assigned them.
As they disappeared, Chinita’s eyes followed them. She was not especially grateful for her escape: it was not the first time she had been snatched from beneath the feet of a restive horse; the incident was natural enough to her, and perhaps for this reason her rescuer was not specially interesting to her mind. Somewhat to her disgust, an hour later, when she had managed to steal unobserved into the supper-room, where she crouched in a corner, she saw Rosario and Chata from their seats at their mother’s side regarding the young officer with amiable smiles,—Rosario with infantile coquetry, drooping her long lashes demurely over her soft dreamy black eyes; and Chata, with her orbs of a nondescript gray, frankly though coyly taking in every detail of his face and dress, while they averted themselves as if startled or repelled from the dark countenance of his companion. It might have been thought that Doña Feliz shared her dread, for more than once she looked at the General with an expression of perplexity and aversion, as he lightly entertained Doña Rita with an account of his family and his own exploits,—topics strangely chosen for a Mexican, but which seemed natural rather than egotistical when lightly and wittily expatiated upon by this gay soldier of fortune.
Meanwhile, Don Vicente Gonzales was talking in a low voice to Doña Feliz. He ate little and drank only some water mixed with red wine, while Don Rafael and the General Ramirez partook freely of more generous stimulants, growing more talkative as the evening advanced; and at last, as the ladies rose from the table, and Doña Rita went with the children to the upper rooms, the two walked away together to inspect the horses and talk of the grand reforms initiated by Comonfort, which in reality had but filled the country with discontent and bloodshed. The poison of personal ambition was working in the new President slowly—as it had done more rapidly in his renowned predecessor Santa Anna—the change from the patriot to the demagogue. He who had talked and worked and fought for the liberties of Mexico, dallied with the chains he should have broken.
XIV.
As Don Rafael in an unwonted state of complacency, which drew the anxious eyes of his mother upon him, disappeared with his jovial guest the General, the younger officer, Don Vicente Gonzales, drew a long breath of relief, and at a sign from Doña Feliz followed her to the window, with the half-sombre, half-expectant air of one who is about to speak of past events with an old and tried friend; and throwing himself into a chair, he turned his face toward her with the air and gesture which says more plainly than words, “What have you to tell, or ask? We are alone; let us exchange confidences.”