CHAPTER XXVI. SUNNY HOURS.

The small suburban house in which do?a Dolores had found such a secure shelter between do?a María and do?a Carmen, though simple and comparatively unimportant, was a delightful abode, furnished very plainly, but with perfect taste. In the rear, a rarity in Mexico, was a small but well laid-out garden, full of shade and freshness, which afforded a charming retreat from the heat of the sun at the burning hour of noon. It was in these fragrant clumps that the young ladies hid themselves, to prattle and gossip at liberty, responding, by the sweet bursts of their laughter, to the joyous songs of the birds. Three persons alone were admitted to the house: they were the adventurer, the count, and Dominique. The adventurer, incessantly absorbed by his mysterious occupations, only made rare and short visits there. It was not the same with the young men. During the first days they had strictly conformed to their friend's recommendations, and paid short, and, so to speak, stealthy visits, but gradually led on by the invisible charms which unconsciously attracted them, the visits were multiplied, became longer, and inventing all sorts of pretexts, they at last came to spend nearly the whole day with the ladies.

One day, while the inhabitants of the small house had withdrawn to the garden and were gaily conversing together, a frightful tumult was heard outside. The old servant ran in great alarm to inform his mistress that a band of ruffians, assembled before the house, insisted on having the gate opened to them, threatening to break it down if they were not obeyed. The count re-assured do?a María, told her to fear nothing, and after begging her and the young ladies not to leave the garden, he and Dominique advanced to the outer door. Raimbaut had accidentally come a few minutes previously to bring his master a letter, and his presence, under the circumstances, became very valuable. The three men took their double-barrelled guns and revolvers, and after making their arrangements in a few words, the count approached the gate, on which furious blows were being dealt outside, and ordered the old servant to open it. The gate was hardly opened ere there was an awful pushing, and a dozen individuals rushed into the zaguán with furious shouts and yells. But suddenly they stopped. Before them, at ten paces distance at the most, three men were standing with shouldered guns, ready to pull the trigger. The bandits, who were mostly unarmed, as they were so fully convinced of meeting with no resistance, and who only had the knives thrust through their belts, stood struck with stupor at the sight of the guns levelled at them. The fierce looks of these three men awed them; they hesitated, and finally stopped short, exchanging glances of alarm. This was not what had been announced to them: this house, apparently so tranquil, contained a formidable garrison. The count handed his gun to the old man servant, and drawing his revolver, advanced resolutely toward the ruffians. The latter, by an opposite movement, commenced to recoil step by step, so that they soon reached the gate; then, turning round with a bound, they rushed out. The count quickly locked the gate after them. The young men laughed heartily at their easy victory, and rejoined the ladies, who had hidden themselves, all trembling, in the thickets. This lesson had been sufficient; henceforth the quiet of the inhabitants of the small house was undisturbed.

Still, do?a María, grateful for the service the young men had done her, not only did not think that they paid too long visits, but even when they proposed to retire, she invited them to remain. It is true that the young ladies joined their entreaties to hers, so that the count and his friend easily allowed themselves to be induced to remain, and thus passed the greater part of the day with them.

It was the day after the night don Adolfo had spent in supping so heartily with his friends; noon had long struck from all the city churches, and the young men, who generally presented themselves at do?a María's at eleven o'clock, had not yet made their appearance. The two young ladies, who were in the dining room, pretended to be arranging and dusting the furniture, so as not to go and join do?a María, who had been for a long time expecting them in the garden. Though they did not speak, the girls, while arranging, or rather deranging the furniture, had their eyes incessantly fixed on the clock.

"Can you understand, Carmelita," do?a Dolores at length said with a delicious pout, "why my cousin has not yet arrived?"

"It is inconceivable, querida," do?a Carmen at once answered. "I confess that I feel very anxious, for the city is in a disturbed state at this moment, I hear. I only hope nothing unpleasant has happened to the two poor young gentlemen."

"Oh! It would be frightful if any accident were to happen to them!"

"What would become of us alone and unprotected in this house? Had it not been for their assistance, we should have been assassinated before."

"The more so, because we cannot count on don Jaime, who is always absent."

The young ladies heaved a sigh, looked at each other silently for a moment, and then fell into one another's arms with a burst of tears. They understood each other. It was not for themselves they feared.

"You love him, then?" do?a Dolores at length whispered in her friend's ear.

"Oh, yes," she replied softly. "And you?"

"I too."

The confession was made; they now understood one another, and had nothing further to conceal.

"How long have you loved him?" do?a Carmen continued.

"I do not know, but I fancy that I have always loved him."

"It is the same with me."

Nothing is so sweet and pure as a girl's simple love. It is the soul scarce awake to human sensations, which seeks its lovely angelic wings to fly toward the unknown regions of the ideal.

"And does he love you?" Carmen asked softly.

"Yes, since I love him."

"That is true," she replied, quite convinced.

Love has this adorable thing about it, that it is essentially illogical; were it not so, it would not be love. Suddenly the young ladies rose, and laid their hands on their heart.

"Here he is," said Dolores.

"He is coming," Carmen remarked.

How did they know? The deepest silence prevailed outside. Then, quitting the dining room, they fled to the garden like startled doves. Almost immediately there was a knock at the door. The old servant doubtless recognized the knock, for he at once opened. The count and his friend entered.

"The ladies?" the count asked.

"In the huerta, Excellency," the servant answered, as he closed the door after them.

The ladies were seated in an arbour; do?a María was embroidering, the young ladies were attentively reading—so attentively, indeed, that, though they suddenly blushed, they did not hear the sound of their visitors' footsteps on the gravel walks, and were greatly surprised on perceiving them.

The gentlemen took off their hats on entering the arbour, and bowed respectfully to the ladies.

"Here you are at last, gentlemen," do?a María remarked with a smile; "do you know that we felt very anxious?"

"Oh!" said do?a Carmen with a pout.

"Not so very," do?a Dolores murmured, "these gentlemen have doubtless found an opportunity to amuse themselves elsewhere and took advantage of it."

The count and Dominique gazed at the young ladies in surprise, for they did not understand.

"Come, come, little mad caps," do?a María said gently: "do not torment the poor young men so, you render them quite confused: it is probable that they did not come sooner because they were prevented."

"Oh! These gentlemen are perfectly at liberty to come when they please:" do?a Dolores said disdainfully.

"We should be sorry to feel angry with them for such a trifle," Carmen added with the same tone.

This was the death shot for the young men, and they completely lost countenance. The teasing girls looked at them for a second, and then burst into such a frank and sudden laugh, that the count and Dominique turned pale with annoyance.

"?Viva Dios!" the vaquero exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily, "It is too unkind to punish us thus for a fault we have not committed."

"Don Adolfo detained us against our will!" the count said.

"You have seen don Jaime?" do?a María asked.

"Yes, madam, he paid us a visit at eleven o'clock last night."

The young men then took chairs, and a pleasant conversation was carried on. Do?a Carmen and Dolores continued to tease them: they were happy at having made them so utterly disconcerted, though in their hearts they felt a grudge because their lovers had not comprehended the feeling that dictated their reproaches. As for the count and Dominique, they felt happy in being by the side of these lovely and simple girls, they intoxicated themselves with the fire of their glances, listened with ravishment to the sweet music of their voice, without thinking of anything but enjoying as long as possible the easy happiness which they thus procured. The entire afternoon passed in this way with the rapidity of a dream. At nine o'clock they took leave and returned home without exchanging a word.

"Do you feel inclined to sleep?" the count asked his friend, as soon as they reached their apartments.

"Really, no," the latter answered; "why?"

"Because I should like to talk with you."

"Well, that is capital, for I too want to talk to you."

"Ah," said the count: "well, if you like, we will talk over a cigar and a glass of punch."

"That will be excellent."

The young men sat down opposite each other and lit their cigars.

"What a charming day we have spent!" the count said.

"How could it be otherwise," Dominique asked, "with such amiable persons?"

And as if by common accord the young men sighed. The count suddenly seemed to form a determination.

"Come," he said to his friend, "will you be frank?"

"With you I shall always be so, as you are well aware," Dominique answered.

"Well, listen to me: you are aware that I have only been a few months in Mexico, but what you know only vaguely is the motive that brought me to this country."

"I fancy I was told you had come here with the intention of marrying your cousin, do?a Dolores de la Cruz."

"That is true: but what you do not know is the way in which this marriage was arranged, and the motives that prevent me from breaking it off."

"Ah!" said Dominique.

"I will be brief: know then that while still a child, by the conditions of a family compact I was betrothed to my cousin do?a Dolores, of whose existence even I was ignorant. When I became a man, my parents called on me to fulfil this engagement, which they had made in my name without consulting me. In spite of the very natural repugnance I felt for this strange union with a woman whom I did not know, I was compelled to obey. I quitted with regret the happy careless life I was leading in Paris among my friends, and embarked for Mexico. Don Andrés de la Cruz received me on my arrival with the liveliest joy, overwhelmed me with the most delicate attentions, and introduced me to his daughter, my betrothed. Do?a Dolores received me coldly, even more than coldly: evidently she was no more satisfied than myself with the union she was forced to contract with a stranger, and felt hurt at the right her father had thus arrogated of disposing of her hand without consulting her, or even warning her; for do?a Dolores, as I learned afterwards, was perfectly ignorant of the compact concluded between the two branches of our family. As for myself, delighted at the cool reception which I received from the woman I was destined to marry, I hoped that possibly this union might not be completed. Do?a, Dolores is very beautiful, as you are aware."

"Ah, yes," Dominique muttered.

"Her character is charming, her mind cultivated—in a word, she combines all the graces and seductive attractions which make an accomplished woman."

"Oh, yes," Dominique repeated; "all that you are saying is perfectly true."

"Well, I cannot love her, the feeling is stronger than I am; and yet duty—duty forces me to marry her, for do?a Dolores has suddenly become an orphan. She is almost ruined, and surrendered defenselessly to her brother's hatred: betrothed to her against my will, it is true, but very really betrothed, honour orders me to carry out this union, the last wish of her dying father; and yet I love—"

"What do you say?" Dominique exclaimed in a panting voice.

"Forgive me, Dominique; I love do?a Carmen."

"Oh, thanks, Great Heaven!"

"What do you mean?"

"I love too," said Dominique; "you render me very happy, for the woman I love is do?a Dolores!"

The count offered his hand to Dominique, but the latter threw himself into his arms. They held each other closely embraced for some time, but at last the count gently liberated himself.

"Let us hope!" he said; and this one word contained the feelings which were boiling in his heart.