The presence of a clerical functionary, in the house of such a man as De Marsiac, was not so remarkable as at first view it would seem; for, independent of the almost complete degradation of that order in that part of Mexico, there was another reason for the opportune appearance of one of its members. The count, anticipating the possibility of gaining some advantage in the events about to happen, had manifested one of the most valuable characteristics of a great general—preparing himself to make the utmost of whatever success might be given him. He had summoned Father Aneres to Embocadura, for the very purpose for which he now called him to Piedritas.
The padre exhibited the three peculiarities of the priesthood in that country, excepting, indeed, well-shaped hands and feet, they were the only remarkable points about him: he possessed a rotund corporation, a full nether lip, and a small, twinkling, black eye. He was above the ordinary level referred to, however, for the grossness of his aspect was rather that of easy self-indulgence, than of positive sensuality. Indolence filled up the space in him, which, in his brethren, it usually shared with a cruel and rapacious depravity.
He entered the hacienda within an hour after the dispatch of De Marsiac’s messenger—a promptitude for which he received from none there, excepting the count, any of the good wishes usually bestowed upon such occasions on men of his profession. To Margarita, especially, his coming was unwelcome in a very high degree; for, though but an hour remained before the period fixed for McCulloch’s arrival with his Rangers, this was space enough for one so determined as the count, and far too much for her to dispose of in specious delays.
This was soon manifested, indeed, by the unannounced entrance of De Marsiac, who demanded that the ceremony should proceed forthwith. She informed him that she had but now commenced her preparations; and rashly said, that she would be quite ready at the end of an hour.
“See that you are so, then,” said he, peremptorily; “for I will not be cajoled into another minute’s delay. I shall be here again precisely at nine o’clock; and if you are not ready then, I shall shoot the prisoners, and compel you to redeem your pledge afterward.”
She was about to make an angry reply; but, reflecting that he was fully capable, if incensed more than he seemed already, of dragging her at once to the altar, she suppressed her indignation, and replied as calmly as possible—
“Do you not think, count,” said she, “that such language is unbecoming at such a time—and to me?”
“If,” said he, softening at once, approaching her and taking her hand, “if you treated me with the confidence which I feel I deserve, no one could be more gentle and affectionate than I would be. But you leave no room for gentleness. Even now, you are endeavoring to gain time in order that you may be rescued by American soldiers. But—be at once undeceived—these soldiers cannot arrive here sooner than the day after to-morrow, and then they will find the place vacant.”
Margarita’s heart sank within her, though she had seen Harding’s messenger, and trusted his report. She knew not to what expedient one so adroit as her persecutor might resort, to delay the march of the rangers, or lead them astray; and her imagination at once conjured up twenty plans by which he might secure his object. She made no reply, however, other than to assert that he was mistaken in her motives, and request that he would leave her to her preparations.
“Very well,” said he, “I will return at nine o’clock.”