I stood dumb, staring at him in deepening despair.
"Juan, can you not look at the matter through my eyes?" he urged. "The time is ripe. There are rumors that the Corsican is preparing to clutch Old Spain out of the feeble grasp of King Ferdinand. It is well known that the revenues from our mines have already for a long time been flowing through the Spanish treasury into the coffers of France. Our people are fast losing faith in Old World rulership. They hate and fear the French."
"Then let them rebel and win freedom with their blood, as did my people. A people who would buy liberty by the sale of a helpless girl are worthy only of utter slavery."
He flushed a dull red beneath his swarthy skin, yet kept his temper well in hand.
"You do not understand, Juan. Listen. It is now only ten years since the people of the Viceroyalty rose and proclaimed the Viceroy, Barnardo Count of Galvez, King of Mexico. In his misguided loyalty, Barnardo crushed the insurrection with merciless vigor,—for which he was duly honored and then duly poisoned by his royal master. Had he been wise, he would to-day be ruling over a freed country of devoted subjects. But that revolution came to naught; the vast projects of your discredited statesman Aaron Burr have failed most miserably; and now we lovers of liberty here are left to do the best we can with our unaided strength."
"And the purchasing power of divine and innocent beauty!" I cried.
"So be it!" he replied, with a hardness of determination which I realized all my anger and despair could not move a hair's-breadth. Yet as he went on, his voice quivered with unfeigned commiseration for my suffering. "Juan!—Juan! If I could sell my soul instead, and thereby save her for you, I would do it. The thought of her anguish rends my very heart cords! Yet it cannot be. She alone can win over the second Galvez who shall free my country."
There was nothing more to be said. Death alone can bend the course of a good and strong man turned fanatic. Without a word I left the room, half crazed with rage and black despair. He followed, murmuring words of sorrowful regret; but to me his heart-felt condolences seemed only the bitterest of mockeries.
As I descended the stairway, I looked back, not to return his grave bows, but in search of my lady. It was in vain. Doña Marguerite had taken care to spirit her away. Heavy-footed, I dragged myself out into the street and away from that hateful gateway.
Before I could reach the plaza, I heard a sudden rumble of wheels and thud of hoofs, and there swirled into the street a grand coach and six that all but ran me down. I flung myself clear of the trampling hoofs, but the forewheel of the huge gilded carriage grazed my leg as I pressed back against the nearest wall.