When Count de la Saulay entered the dining room, the other guests, numbering from twenty to twenty-five, were already assembled.
Don Andrés, like many of the great Mexican landowners, had kept up on his estates the custom of making his people eat at the same table with himself.
This patriarchal custom, which has long fallen into desuetude1 in Europe, was for all that, in our opinion, one of the best our forefathers2 left us. This community of life drew together the bonds which attach masters to servants, and rendered the latter, so to speak, vassals3 of the family whose private life they shared up to a certain point.
Don Andrés de la Cruz was standing4 at the end of the room, between do?a Dolores, his daughter, and don Melchior, his son.
We will say nothing of do?a Dolores, with whom the reader is already acquainted. Don Melchior was a young man of nearly the same age as the count. His tall stature5 and powerful limbs rendered him a gallant6 gentleman, in the common acceptance of the term. His features were manly7 and marked, and his beard was black and full. He had a large, well open eye, a fixed8 and piercing glance: his very brown complexion9 had a slight olive tinge10; the sound of his voice was rather rough, his accent harsh, while his countenance11 was stern, and its expression became menacing and haughty12 upon the slightest emotion. His gestures were noble, and his manners distinguished13; and he wore the Mexican costume in all its purity.
So soon as the introductions had been made by don Andrés, the party took their seats. The hacendero, after bidding Ludovic sit on his right hand, by his daughter's side, made a sign to the latter. She repeated the Benedicite, the guests said Amen, and the meal commenced.
The Mexicans, like their Spanish ancestors, are extremely sober; they do not drink during meals. It is only when the dulces or sweets are brought in, that is to say, at dessert, that vessels14 containing water are placed on the table.
By a delicate attention, don Andrés offered wine to his French guest, who was waited on by his valet, standing behind him, to the general amazement15 of the company.
The meal was silent, in spite of the repeated efforts of don Andrés to animate16 the conversation. The count and don Melchior limited themselves to the exchange of a few conventional phrases, and then held their tongues. Do?a Dolores was pale, and seemed to be unwell; she ate hardly anything, and did not utter a syllable17.
At length dinner was over. They rose from table, and the servants of the hacienda dispersed18 to go to their work.
The count, involuntarily disturbed by the cold and measured reception which don Melchior had offered him, alleged19 the fatigue20 of the journey as a reason for wishing to retire to his apartments.
Don Andrés consented to this with much repugnance21. Don Melchior and the count exchanged a ceremonious bow, and turned their backs on each other. Do?a Dolores gave the young man a graceful22 bow, and the count withdrew, after warmly shaking the hand which his host held out to him.
It took Count de la Saulay, who was habituated to the comfortable elegance23 and pleasant relations of Parisian life, to become used to the sad, monotonous24, and savage25 existence at the Hacienda del Arenal.
In spite of the cordial reception which had been given him by don Andrés de la Cruz and the attention he did not cease to offer him, the young man speedily perceived that his host was the sole person of the family who regarded him favourably26.
Do?a Dolores, though very polite to him and even gracious in their daily relations when chance brought them together, still seemed to be embarrassed in his presence, and to shun27 every occasion when he could converse28 with her in private: so soon as she perceived that her father or brother was leaving the room, in which she happened to be with the count, she at once broke off the begun conversation, blushingly faltered29 an excuse, and went away or rather flew away, light and rapid as a bird, and left Ludovic without further ceremony.
This conduct on the part of a girl to whom he had been betrothed30 from his childhood, for whose sake he had crossed the Atlantic almost against his will, and solely31 to honour the engagement made by his family in his name, naturally surprised and mortified32 a man like Count de la Saulay, whom his personal beauty, his wit and even his fortune had not hitherto accustomed to be treated with such strange want of ceremony and such complete contempt by the ladies.
Naturally but little inclined to the marriage which his family wished to force himself into, not feeling at all enamoured of his cousin, whom he had scarce taken the trouble to look at, and whom he was much disposed to consider a fool, on account of her want of tact33 towards himself, the count would easily have taken advantage of the repugnance which she seemed to feel for him—would not only have consoled but congratulated himself on the breaking off of his marriage with her, had not his self-esteem been too extensively implicated34, in a way very insulting to him.
However great might be the indifference35 he felt for the young lady, he was offended at the slight effect his dress, manners and luxurious36 habits had produced on her, and the coldly contemptuous way in which she had listened to his compliments and accepted his advances.
Though sincerely desirous in his heart that this marriage, which displeased37 him for a thousand reasons, might not be completed, he would still have liked that the rupture38, without coming absolutely from him, should not come so distinctly from the young lady, and that circumstances should permit him while retiring with all the honours of war, to feel himself regretted by the girl who was to have been his wife.
Dissatisfied with himself and the persons by whom he was surrounded, feeling himself in a false position, which could not fail to become ridiculous ere long, the count thought of getting out of it as speedily as possible. But, before provoking a frank and decisive explanation on the part of don Andrés de la Cruz, who did not seem to suspect in the slightest degree the turn affairs were taking, the count resolved to know positively39 what he had to depend on as regarded his affianced; for with that fatuity40 natural to all men spoiled by facile successes, he felt a mental conviction that it was impossible do?a Dolores would not have loved him, if her heart had not already been captivated by someone else.
This resolution once formed and fully41 resolved in his mind, the count, who found himself very unoccupied at the hacienda, set about watching the young lady's conduct, determined42, once he had acquired a certainty to retire and return as speedily as possible to France, which country he regretted every day more, and which he repented43 having so suddenly abandoned, in order to seek so humiliating an adventure two thousand leagues from home.
In spite of her indifference for the count, we have remarked, however, that do?a Dolores felt herself obliged to be polite and attentive44 to the count, although not so amiable45 as he might have desired: an example which her brother completely dispensed46 himself from following towards his father's guest, whom he treated with such marked coldness, that it would have been impossible for the count not to notice it, though he disdained47 to let it be seen: hence he feigned48 to take the young man's rough and even brutal49 manner as natural and perfectly50 in accord with the manners of the country.
The Mexicans, let us hasten to state, are exquisitely51 polite, their language is always carefully chosen and their expressions flowery, and with the exception of the difference of dress, it is impossible to distinguish a man of the people from a person of high rank. Don Melchior de la Cruz, through a singular anomaly, doubtless emanating52 from his natural sternness, was perfectly different from his countrymen: always gloomy, thoughtful and reserved, he generally only opened his mouth to utter a few sharp words, with a coarse tone and in a rough voice.
From the first moment that they met, don Melchior and the count seemed equally little satisfied with each other: the Frenchman appeared too mannered and effeminate to the Mexican and, per contra, the latter repulsed53 the other by the coarseness of his nature and the triviality of his gestures and expressions.
But if there had been only this instinctive54 antipathy55 between the two young men, it would probably have disappeared by degrees, and friendly relations would have been established between them, when they knew each other better and could consequently appreciate one another's good qualities; but this was not the case, it was neither indifference nor jealousy56 that don Melchior felt for the count, but a hearty57 Mexican hatred58.
Whence did this hatred spring? What unknown familiarity of the count had given birth to it? That was don Melchior's secret.
The young hacendero was completely wrapped up in mysteries: his actions were as gloomy as his countenance: enjoying unbounded liberty, he used and abused it as he pleased to the fullest extent by going in and out without accounting59 to anybody: it is true that his father and sister, doubtless accustomed to this behaviour, never asked him any questions as to where he had been, or what he had been doing, when he reappeared after an absence which was frequently prolonged for a week.
On such occasions, which were very frequent, he was usually seen returning at the breakfast hour.
He bowed silently to the company, sat down without uttering a syllable, ate, then twisted a cigarette, which he lighted, and then withdrew to his apartments without further notice of the party.
Once or twice don Andrés, who understood perfectly well how unpolite such conduct was towards his guest, tried to apologize for his son, by throwing the blame of this apparent rudeness on his very serious occupations, which completely absorbed him; but the count replied that don Melchior appeared to him a charming cavalier, that he saw nothing but what was perfectly natural in his mode of acting60 towards him, that the very want of ceremony he displayed was a proof of the friendship which he evidenced for him by treating him not as a stranger, but as a friend and relative, and that he would be most sorry if don Melchior, on his account, set any restraint on his habits.
Don Andrés, though not duped by his guest's apparent gentleness, had not considered it prudent61 to dwell on this subject, and it dropped.
Don Melchior was feared by all the people belonging to the hacienda, and, according to all appearance, even by his father.
It was evident that this gloomy young man exercised over all who surrounded him an influence, which though occult, was probably the more formidable on that account, but no one dared to complain, and the count, who alone might have ventured some observations, did not at all care about doing so for the very simple reason that regarding himself as a stranger spending a little while in Mexico, he felt no inclination62 to mix himself up in matters or intrigues63 which did not concern him and could not possibly affect him in the slightest degree.
Nearly two months had elapsed since the young man's arrival at the hacienda: he had passed the time in reading, or riding about the country, on which occasions he was nearly always accompanied by the majordomo of the hacienda, a man of about forty years of age, with a frank and open face, a short, muscular and powerfully built man, who appeared to be very intimate with his masters.
This majordomo, Leo Carral by name, had struck up a great liking64 for this young Frenchman, whose inexhaustible gaiety and liberality had touched his heart.
During their long rides over the plain, he took pleasure in perfecting the count in art of riding made him understand the defective65 principles of the French school, and applied66 himself to render him a real hombre de a caballo and a jinete of the first class, just like himself.
We must add that his pupil profited perfectly by his lessons, and not only became within a short time a perfect horseman, but also a first rate shot. Thanks again to the worthy67 majordomo.
The count, by the advice of his professor, had adopted the Mexican garb68, an elegant and convenient costume, which he wore with unparalleled grace.
Don Andrés de la Cruz rubbed his hands with glee on seeing the man whom he already regarded almost as his son-in-law, assume the garb of the country—a certain proof in his eyes of the count's intention to settle in Mexico. He had even on this occasion adroitly69 tried to lead the conversation to the subject he had nearest his heart, that is to say, the young man's marriage, with do?a Dolores. But the count who was always on his guard, avoided this awkward subject, as he had done on several previous occasions, and don Andrés withdrew, shaking his head and muttering—
"Yet we must come to an explanation."
It was at least the tenth time since the count's arrival at the hacienda that don Andrés de la Cruz promised himself to have an explanation with him, but up to then, the young man had always contrived70 to elude71 it.
One night when the count, who had retired72 to his apartments, was reading later than his wont73, at the moment when he closed his book and prepared to go to bed, raising his eyes accidentally, he fancied he saw a shadow pass before the glass door that opened on the huerta.
The night was advanced, all the inhabitants of the hacienda were or ought to be asleep two hours before. Who was this prowler whom fancy impelled74 to stroll about so late?
Without accounting for the motive75 that urged him to act so, Ludovic resolved to find out.
He got up from the butaca in which he was seated, took from a table two revolvers, in order to be prepared for any event, and opening the door as softly as he could, he went forth76 into the huerta and proceeded in the direction where he had seen the suspicious shadow disappear.
The night was magnificent, the moon shed as much light as broad day, and the atmosphere was so transparent77, that objects could be perfectly distinguished for a great distance.
As the count very rarely entered the huerta, and hence was ignorant of its arrangement, he hesitated to enter the walks which he saw running before him in all directions, crossing each other as to form a perfect labyrinth78, for he had no inclination to stay out all night, lovely though it was.
He therefore, stopped to reflect, perhaps he was mistaken, had been the dupe of an illusion, and what he had taken for a man's shadow, might possibly be that of a branch agitated79 by the night breeze, and which the moon beams had caused to dazzle his eyes.
This observation was not only just, but logical, hence the young man carefully guarded himself against yielding to it; at the end of an instant an ironical80 smile curled his lips and instead of entering the garden, he cautiously slipped along the wall which formed on this side a wall of verdure to the hacienda.
After gliding81 along thus for about ten minutes, the count stopped, first to take breath and then to look about him.
"Good," he muttered after looking cautiously around, "I was not mistaken."
He then bent82 forward, cautiously parted the leaves and branches and looked out.
Almost immediately he drew himself back, suppressing a cry of surprise.
The spot where he was, was exactly opposite the suite83 of apartments occupied by do?a Dolores de la Cruz.
A window in this suite was open, and do?a Dolores leaning on the window ledge84, was talking to a man who was standing in the garden, but exactly opposite to her, a distance of scarce two feet separated the speakers, who appeared engaged in a most interesting conversation.
It was impossible for the count to recognize the man, although he was only a few yards from him. In the first place, he had his back turned to him, and then he was wrapped up in a cloak which completely disguised him.
"Ah!" the count muttered, "I was not mistaken." In spite of the blow this discovery dealt his vanity, the count uttered these words with a mental satisfaction at having guessed correctly: this man, whoever he was, could only be a lover.
Still, though the two spoke85 softly, they did not lower their voices so as to render them inaudible at a short distance, and while blaming himself for the indelicate action he was committing, the count, excited by vexation and possibly by unconscious jealousy, parted the branches and bent forward again for the purpose of listening.
The young lady was speaking. "Good heaven," she said with emotion, "I tremble, my friend, when I pass several days without seeing you: my anxiety is extreme and I even fear a misfortune."
"Confound it," the count muttered, "that fellow is dearly beloved."
This aside made him lose the man's reply. The young lady continued:
"Am I condemned86 to remain much longer here?"
"A little patience: I trust that everything will be ended soon," the stranger answered in a low voice; "and what is he doing?"
"He is still the same, as gloomy and mysterious as ever," she replied.
"Is he here tonight?"
"Yes."
"Still as ill-tempered?"
"More so than ever."
"And the Frenchman?"
"Ah! Ah!" said the count, "Let us hear what is thought of me."
"He is a most agreeable person," the young lady murmured in a trembling voice; "for the last few days he has seemed sad."
"Is he growing weary?"
"I fear so."
"Poor girl," the count said, "she has perceived that I am growing tired; it is true that I take but little trouble to conceal87 the fact. But, by the way, can I be mistaken, and this man is no lover? It is very improbable, and yet who knows?" he added fatuously88.
During this long aside, the two speakers had continued their conversation which had been totally unheard by the young man, when he began to listen again. Do?a Dolores was concluding—
"I will do it, as you insist on it: but is it very necessary, my friend?"
"Indispensable, Dolores."
"Hang it! He is familiar," the count said.
"I will obey then," the young lady continued,
"Now we must part: I have remained here too long as it is."
The stranger pulled his hat down over his eyes, muttered the word farewell, for the last time and went off at a quick pace.
The count had remained motionless at the same spot, a prey89 to a profound stupefaction. The stranger passed close enough to touch him, though without seeing him: at this moment a branch knocked off his hat, a moon ray fell full on his face and the count then recognized him.
"Oliver!" he muttered, "It is he then, that she loves."
He returned to his apartments tottering90 like a drunken man. This last discovery had upset him.
The young man went to bed, but could not sleep: he passed the whole night in forming the most extravagant91 projects. However, toward morning, his agitation92 appeared to give way to lassitude.
Before forming any resolution, he said, "I wish to have an explanation with her, very certainly I do not love her, but for my honour's sake, it is necessary that she should be thoroughly93 convinced that I am not a fool and that I know everything. That is settled: tomorrow I shall request an interview with her."
Feeling calmer, after he had formed a definitive94 resolution, the count closed his eyes and fell asleep. On waking, he saw Raimbaut standing at his bed side, with a paper in his hand.
"What is it? What do you want?" he said to him.
"It is a letter for Monsieur le Comte," the valet answered.
"Ah!" he exclaimed; "Can it be news from France?"
"I do not think so; this letter was given to Lanca by one of the waiting women of do?a Dolores de la Cruz, with a request to deliver it to M. le Comte, as soon as he woke."
"This is strange," the young man muttered, as he took the note and examined it attentively95; "it is certainly addressed to me," he muttered, at length deciding on opening it.
The note was from do?a Dolores de la Cruz, and only contained these few words, written in a delicate though rather tremulous hand.
"Do?a Dolores de la Cruz earnestly requests se?or don Ludovic de la Saulay to grant her a private interview for a very important affair at three o'clock in the afternoon of today. Do?a Dolores will await the ount in her own apartments."
"This time I cannot make head or tail of it," the count exclaimed. "But stuff," he added, after a moment's reflection; "perhaps it is better that it should be so, and the proposition come from her."
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1
desuetude
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| n.废止，不用 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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vassals
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| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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52
emanating
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的现在分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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definitive
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| adj.确切的，权威性的；最后的，决定性的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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