CHAPTER SIX.
"VA CON DIOS!"
Though I had already made myself acquainted with his usual hour ofrepairing to the pulqueria, I had not timed it neatly.
For twenty minutes I stood with the _billetita_ in my hand, and thedoubloon in my pocket, both ready to be entrusted to him. No cocherocame forth.
The house rose three stories from the street--its massive mason workgiving it a look of solemn grandeur. The great gaol-like gate--knobbedall over like the hide of an Indian rhinoceros--was shut and secured bystrong locks and double bolting. There was no light in the _sagnan_behind it; and not a ray shone through the jalousies above.
Not remembering that in Mexican mansions there are many spaciousapartments without street windows, I might have imagined that the CasaVilla-Senor was either uninhabited, or that the inmates had retired torest. The latter was not likely: it wanted twenty minutes to ten.
What had become of my cochero? Half-past nine was the hour I hadusually observed him strolling forth; and I had now been upon the spotsince a quarter past eight. Something must be keeping him indoors--anextra scouring of his plated harness or grooming of his _frisones_?
This thought kept me patient, as I paced to and fro under the portico ofDon Eusebio's "opposite neighbour."
Ten o'clock! The sonorous campana of the Cathedral was striking thenoted hour--erst celebrated in song. A score of clocks inchurch-steeples, that tower thickly over the City of the Angels, hadtaken up the cue; and the air of the night vibrated melodiously underthe music of bell metal.
To kill time--and another bird with the same stone--I took out myrepeater, with the intention of regulating it. I knew it was not themost correct of chronometers. The oil lamp on the opposite side enabledme to note the position of the hands upon the dial. Its dimness,however, caused delay; and I may have been engaged some minutes in theact.
After returning the watch to its fob, I once more glanced towards theentrance of Don Eusebio's dwelling--at a wicket in the great gate,through which I expected the cochero to come.
The gate was still close shut; but, to my surprise, the man was standingoutside of it! Either he, or some one else?
I had heard no noise--no shooting of bolts, nor creaking of hinges.Surely it could not be the cochero?
I soon perceived that it was not; nor anything that in the least degreeresembled him.
My _vis-a-vis_ on the opposite side of the street was, like myself,enveloped in a cloak, and wearing a black sombrero.
Despite the disguise, and the dim light afforded by the _lard_, therewas no mistaking him for either domestic, tradesman, or lepero. His airand attitude--his well-knit figure, gracefully outlined underneath theloose folds of the broadcloth--above all, the lineaments of a handsomeface--at once proclaimed the "cavallero."
In appearance he was a man of about my own age: twenty-five, not more.Otherwise he may have had the advantage of me; for, as I gazed on hisfeatures--ill lit as they were by the feebly glimmering lamp--I fanciedI had never looked on finer.
A pair of black moustaches curled away from the corners of a mouth, thatexhibited twin rows of white regular teeth. They were set in a pleasingsmile.
Why that pain shooting through my heart, as I beheld it?
I was disappointed that he was not the cochero for whom I had beenkeeping watch. But it was not this. Far different was the sentimentwith which I regarded him. Instead of the "go-between" I had expectedto employ, I felt a suspicion, that I was looking upon a _rival_!
A successful one, too, I could not doubt. His splendid appearance gaveearnest of that.
He had not paused in front of the Casa Villa-Senor without a purpose--aswas evident from the way in which he paced the banquette beneath, whileglancing at the balcon above. I could see that his eyes were fixed onthat very window--by my own oft passionately explored!
His look and bearing--both full of confidence--told that he had beenthere before--often before; and that he was now at the spot--not likemyself on an errand of doubtful speculation, but by _appointment_!
I could tell, that he had not come to avail himself of the services ofthe cochero. His eyes did not turn towards the grand entrance-gate, butremained fixed upon the balcony above--where he evidently expected someone to make appearance.
Shadowed by the portal, I was not seen by him; though I cared not astraw about that. My remaining in concealment was a mere mechanicalact--an instinct, if you prefer the phrase. From the first I feltsatisfied, that my own "game was up," and that I had no longer anybusiness with the domestic of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor. His daughter wasalready engaged!
Of course I thought only of Mercedes. It would have been absurd tosuppose that the man I saw before me could be _after_ the other. Theidea did not enter my brain--reeling at the sight of my successfulrival.
Unlike me, he was not kept long in suspense. Ten o'clock had evidentlybeen the hour of appointment. The cathedral was to give the time; and,as the tolling commenced, the cloaked cavalier had entered the street,and hastened forward to the place.
As the last strokes were reverberating upon the still night air, I sawthe blind silently drawn aside; while a face--too often outlined in mydreams--now, in dim but dread reality, appeared within the embayment ofthe window.
The instant after, and a form, robed in dark habiliments, steppedsilently out into the balcony; a white arm was stretched over thebalusters; something still whiter, appearing at the tips of taperingfingers, fell noiselessly into the street, accompanied by the softlywhispered words:
"_Querido Francisco; va con Dios_!" (God be with you, dear Francis!)
Before the _billet-doux_ could be picked up from the pavement, the fairwhisperer disappeared within the window; the jalousie was once moredrawn: and both house and street relapsed into sombre silence.
No one passing the mansion of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor could have told,that his daughter had been committing an _indiscretion_. That secretwas in the keeping of two individuals; one to whom it had, no doubt,imparted supreme happiness; the other to whom it had certainly given amoment of misery!