"Yes," the colonel remarked, with a laugh, "but you will not make up your mind because, I repeat, you are afraid; and to prove to you the truth of my assertion, although I do not know the man, and only take an interest in the matter for your sake, I will make you a wager if you like."

"A wager?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I bet you that you will not dare avenge yourself on your enemy within the next four and twenty hours, not even with the help of your twelve companions."

"And what will you bet, excellency?"

"Well, I am so certain of running no risk, that I will bet you one hundred ounces. Does that suit you?"

"One hundred ounces!" the bandit exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with greed. "Viva Dios! I would kill my own brother for such a sum."

"You are flattering yourself, I see."

"Here we are at your door, excellency, so it is needless for me to go any further. You said one hundred ounces, I think?"

"I did."

"Farewell. The coming day will not end before I am avenged!"

"Nonsense, nonsense! you will think better of it. Good night, Señor Zaragate."

And the colonel entered his house, muttering to himself, in an aside, "I fancy I managed that cleverly. If this accursed Frenchman escapes from the bloodhounds I have let loose on him, he must be the demon the general calls him."

CHAPTER XXI.
AFTER THE INTERVIEW

The house taken for Valentine by Mr. Rallier was, as we have already stated, situated in the Calle de Tacuba, and by a strange accident, in no way premeditated, only a few yards from the mansion belonging to General Don Sebastian Guerrero. The latter had no suspicion of this, for until the moment when the hunter thought it advisable to pay him a visit, he had been completely ignorant of his enemy's presence in Mexico, in spite of the crowd of spies whom he paid to inform him of his arrival in the capital.

The hunter, therefore, would only have had a few steps to go to reach home after leaving the general. But suspecting that the latter might have given orders to have his carriage followed, he ordered his coachman to drive to the Alameda, and thence to the Paseo de Bucareli.

As the night was far advanced, the promenaders had abandoned the shady walks of the Alameda, which was now completely deserted. This, doubtless, was what the hunter desired, for, on reaching about the centre of the drive, he ordered the coachman to stop, and got out with his companions. After recommending him to watch carefully over his mules (in Mexico people do not use horses for their carriages), and not let any one approach him, for fear of one of those surprises so frequent at this hour at this place, the three men then disappeared in one of the shady walks, though careful not to go too far, so that they could assist their coachman in case of need.

Valentine, like all men accustomed to desert life, that is to vast horizons of verdure, had an instinctive distrust of stone walls, behind which, in his fancy, a spy was continually listening. Hence, when he had an important affair to discuss, or a serious matter to communicate to his friends, he preferred – in spite of the care with which his house had been chosen, and the faithful friends who passed as servants there – going to the Alameda, the Paseo de Bucareli, the Vega, or somewhere in the environs of Mexico, where after posting Curumilla as a sentry, that is to say, the man in whom he had the most perfect faith, and whose scent, if I may be allowed the term, was infallible, he believed that he could safely confide his closest secrets to the friends he conveyed to these strange open air councils.

On reaching a thick clump of trees the hunter stopped.

"We shall be comfortable here," he said, as he sat down on a stone bench and invited his friends to imitate him, "and shall be able to talk without fear."

"The trees have eyes, and the leaves ears," Belhumeur answered sententiously; "I fear nothing so much in the world as these transparent screens of verdure, which allow everything to be seen and heard."

"Yes," Valentine remarked with a smile, "if you do not take the precaution to frighten away spies;" and at the same moment he imitated the soft cadenced hiss of the coral snake.

A similar hiss was heard from the centre of the clump and seemed like an echo.

"That is the chief's signal," the Canadian said. "He has been watching for us there for nearly an hour. Do you now believe that we are in safety?"

"Certainly; when Curumilla watches over us we have no surprise to apprehend."

"Let us talk, then," said Don Martial.

"One moment," Valentine remarked, "we must first hear the report of a friend, which is most valuable, and will doubtless decide the measures we have to adopt."

"Whom are you alluding to?"

"You shall see," Valentine answered, and clapped his hands thrice softly.

Immediately a slight sound and a gentle rustling of leaves was heard in a neighbouring thicket, and a man suddenly emerged, about four paces from the hunters. It was Carnero, the capataz of General Guerrero. He wore a vicuna skin hat, of which the large brim was bent over his eyes, and he was wrapped up in a spacious cloak.

"Good evening, señores," he said, with a polite bow, "I have been awaiting your coming for nearly an hour, and almost despaired of seeing you tonight."

"We were detained longer than we expected by General Guerrero."

"Do you come from him?"

"Did I not tell you I should call on him?"

"Yes; but I hardly believed that you would have the temerity to venture so imprudently into the lion's den."

"Nonsense," Valentine said with a disdainful smile, "the lion as you call him, I assure you, was remarkably tame; he drew in his claws completely, and received us with the most exquisite politeness."

"In that case take care," the capataz replied, with a significant shake of the head; "if he received you as you say, and I have no reason to doubt it, he is, be assured, preparing a terrible countermine against you."

"I am of the same opinion; the question is, whether we shall allow him the time to act."

"He is very clever, my dear Valentine," the capataz continued, "and seems to possess an intuition of evil. In spite of the oath I took to you when, on your entreaty, I consented to remain in his service, there are days when, although I possess a thorough knowledge of his character, he terrifies even me, and I feel on the point of giving up the rude task which, through devotion to you, I have imposed on myself."

"Courage, my friend; persevere but a few days longer, and, believe me, we shall be all avenged."

"May heaven grant it!" the capataz said with a sigh; "but I confess that I dare not believe it, even though it is you who assure me of the fact."

"Have you learnt any important news since our last interview?"

"Only one thing, but I think it is of the utmost gravity for you."

"Speak, my friend."

"What I have to tell you is short and gloomy, señores. The general, after a secret conversation with his man of business, ordered me to carry a letter to the Convent of the Bernardines."

"To the convent?" Don Martial exclaimed.

"Silence," said Valentine. "Do you know the contents of this letter?"

"Doña Anita gave it me to read. The general informs the abbess that he is resolved to finish the matter; that whether his ward be mad or not, he means to marry her, and that at sunrise on the day after tomorrow, a priest sent by him will present himself at the convent to arrange the ceremony."

"Great God! what is to be done?" the Tigrero exclaimed sadly; "how is the execution of this odious machination to be prevented?"

"Silence," Valentine repeated. "Is that all, Carnero?"

"No; the general adds, that he requests the abbess to prepare the young lady for this union, and that he will himself call at the convent tomorrow, in order to explain more fully his inexorable wishes – these are the very words of the letter."

"Very good, my friend, I thank you for this precious information; it is of the utmost importance that the general should be prevented from going to the convent before three o'clock of the tarde. You understand, my friend, this is of vital importance, so you must manage to effect it."

"Do not be uneasy, my dear Valentine; the general shall not go to the convent before the hour you indicate, whatever may be the means I am forced to employ to prevent him."

"I count on your promise, my friend; and now good-bye."

He offered him his hand, which the capataz pressed forcibly.

"When shall I see you, again?" he asked.

"I will soon let you know," the hunter answered.

The capataz bowed and went down a walk; the sound of his footsteps rapidly decreased, and was quite inaudible within a few minutes.

"My friends," Valentine then said, "we have now arrived at the moment for the final struggle, which we have so long been preparing. We must not let ourselves be led away by hatred, but act like judges, not as men who are avenging themselves. Blood demands blood, it is true, according to the law of the desert; but, remember, however culpable the man whom we have condemned may be, his death would be an indelible spot, a brand of infamy which would sully our honour."

"But this monster," the Tigrero exclaimed, with a passion the more violent because it was repressed, "is beyond the pale of humanity."

"He may re-enter it to repent."

"Are we priests then to practise forgetfulness of insults?" Don Martial asked with a fiendish grin.

"No, my friend, there are men in the grand and sublime acceptation of the term; men who have often been faulty themselves, and who, rendered better by the life of struggling they have led, and the grief which has frequently bowed them beneath its iron yoke, inflict a chastisement, but despise vengeance, which they leave to weak and pusillanimous minds. Who of you, my friends, would dare to say that he has suffered more than I? To Him alone will I concede the right of imposing his will on me, and what He bids me do I will do."

"Forgive me, my friend," the Tigrero answered, "you are ever good, ever great. God, in imposing on you a heavy task, endowed you at the same time with an energetic soul, and a heart which seems to expand in your bosom under the blast of adversity, instead of withering. We, however, are but common men, in whom the sanguinary instinct of the savage is constantly revealed in spite of all our efforts, and who know no other law save that of retaliation. Forget the senseless words my lips uttered, and be assured that I will ever joyfully obey you, whatever you may command, persuaded as I am, that you can only ask the man who has utterly placed himself in your power to do just actions."

The hunter, while his friend was speaking thus in a voice broken by emotion, had let his head fall on his hands, and seemed absorbed in gloomy and painful thought.

"I have nothing to forgive you, my friend," he replied in a gentle, sympathizing voice, "for through my own sufferings I can understand what yours are. I, too, often feel my heart bound with wrath and indignation; for, believe me, my friend, I have a constant struggle to wage against myself, not to let myself be led away to make a vengeance of what must only be a punishment. But enough on this head; time presses, and we must arrange our plans, so as not to be foiled by our enemies. I went today to the palace, where I had a secret conversation with the President of the Republic, whom, as you are aware, I have known for many years, and who honours me with a friendship of which I am far from believing myself worthy. At the end of our interview he handed me a paper, a species of blank signature, by the aid of which I can do what I think advisable for the success of our plans."

"Did you obtain such a paper?"

"I have it in my pocket. Now, listen to me. You will go at sunrise tomorrow to the house of Don Antonio Rallier; he will be informed of your coming, and you will follow his instructions."

"And you?"

"Do not be anxious about my movements, good friend, and only think of your own business, for, I repeat, the decisive moment is approaching. The day after tomorrow begins the feast of the anniversary of Mexican Independence; that is to say, on that day we shall do battle with our enemy, and meet him face to face; and the combat will be a rude one, for this man has a will of iron, and a terrible energy. We shall be able to conquer him, but not to subdue him, and if we do not take care he will slip through our hands like a serpent; hence our personal affairs must be finished tomorrow. Though apparently absent, I shall be really near you, that is to say, I will help you with all my power. Still, do not forget that you must act with the most extreme prudence, and, above all, the greatest moderation; a second of forgetfulness would ruin you, by alarming the innumerable spies scattered round the Convent of the Bernardines. I trust that you have heard and understood me, my friend?"

"Yes, Don Valentine."

"And you will act as I recommend?"

"I promise it."

"Reflect, that you are perhaps risking the loss of your future happiness."

"I will not forget your recommendation, I swear to you; I am risking too great a stake in this game, which must decide my future life, to let myself be induced to commit any act of violence."

"Good; I am happy to hear you speak thus; but have confidence, my friend, I feel certain that we shall succeed."

"May heaven hear you!"

"It always hears those who appeal to it with a pure heart and a lively faith. Hope, I tell you; and now, my dear Don Martial, permit me to say a few words to our worthy friend, Belhumeur."

"I will withdraw."

"What for? have I any secrets from you? You can hear what I am going to say to him."

"You have nothing to say to me, Valentine," the hunter said, with a shake of his head, "nothing but what I know already; I have no other interest in what is about to take place beyond the deep friendship that attached me to the count and now to you. You think that the recollection I have preserved of our unhappy friend cannot be sufficiently engraven on my heart for me to risk my life at your side in avenging him; but you are mistaken, Valentine, that's all. I will not abandon you in the hour of combat; I will remain at your side even should you order me to leave you. I tell you that I swear, and have taken an oath to that effect, to make a shield of my body to protect you, if it should be necessary. Now, give me your hand, and suppose we say no more about it?"

Valentine remained silent for a moment; a scalding tear ran down his bronzed cheeks, and he took the hand of the honest, simple-minded Canadian, and merely uttered the words —

"Thank you; I accept."

They then rose, and returned to their carriage, after Valentine had warned his faithful bodyguard, Curumilla, by a signal that he could leave his hiding place, as the interview was over. A quarter of an hour later the three gentlemen reached the house in the Calle de Tacuba, were Curumilla was already awaiting them.

CHAPTER XXII
THE BLANK SIGNATURE

On the morrow, Mexico awoke to a holiday; nothing extraordinary, in a country where the year is a perpetual holiday, and where the most frivolous pretext suffices for letting off cohetes, that supreme amusement of the Mexicans.

This time the affair was serious, for the inhabitants wished to celebrate in a proper manner the anniversary of the Proclamation of Independence, of which the day to which we allude was the eve.

At sunrise a formidable bando issued from the government palace, and went through all the streets and squares of the city, announcing with a mighty clamour of bugles and drums, that on the next day there would be a bull fight with "Jamaica" and "Monte Parnasso" for the leperos, high mass celebrated in all the churches, theatres thrown open gratis, a review of the garrison, and of all the troops quartered sixty miles round, and fireworks and illuminations at night, with open air balls and feria.

The government did things nobly, it must be confessed; hence the people issued from their houses, spread feverishly through the streets at an early hour, laughing, shouting, and letting off squibs, while singing the praises of the President of the Republic, and taking, after their fashion, something on account of the morrow's festival.

Don Martial, in order to throw out the spies doubtless posted round Valentine's house, had left his friend in the middle of the night, and gone to his lodgings, and a few minutes before day proceeded to the house of Mr. Rallier.

Although the sun was not yet above the horizon, the French gentleman was already up and conversing with his brother Edward, while waiting for the Tigrero. Edward was ready to start, and his brother was giving him his parting recommendations.

"You are welcome," the Frenchman said cordially, on perceiving Don Martial; "I was busy with our affair. My brother Edward is just off to our quinta, whither my mother and my brother Auguste proceeded two days ago, so that we might find all in order on our arrival."

Although the Tigrero did not entirely understand what the banker said to him, he considered it unnecessary to show it, and hence bowed without answering.

"All is settled, then," Mr. Rallier continued, addressing his brother; "get everything ready, for we shall probably arrive before midday – that is to say, in time for lunch."

"Your country house is not far from the city?" the Tigrero asked, for the sake of saying something.

"Hardly five miles; it is at St. Angel; but in an excellent position for defence, in the event of an attack. You are aware that St. Angel is built on the side of an extinct volcano, and surrounded by lava and spongy scoria, which renders an approach very difficult."

"I must confess my ignorance of the fact."

"In a country like this, where the government is bound to think of its own defence before troubling itself about individuals, it is as well to take one's precautions, and be always perfectly on guard. And now be off, my dear Edward; your weapons are all right, and two resolute peons will accompany you; besides, the sun is now rising, and you will have a pleasant ride; so good-by till we meet again."

The two brothers shook hands, and the young man, after bowing to Don Martial, left the house, followed by two servants well mounted, and armed like himself. During this conversation the peons had put the horses in a close carriage.

"Get in," said Mr. Rallier.

"What!" Don Martial replied, "are we going to drive?"

"By Jove! do you think I would venture to go to the convent on horseback? Why, we could not go along a street before we were recognized."

"But this carriage will betray you."

"I admit it; but no one will know whom it contains when the shutters are drawn up, which I shall be careful to do before leaving the house. Come, get in."

The Tigrero placed himself by the Frenchman's side; the latter pulled up the shutters, and started at a gallop in a direction diametrically opposed to that which it should have followed, in order to reach the convent.

"Where are we going?" the Tigrero asked presently.

"To the Convent of the Bernardines."

"I fancy we are not going the right road."

"That is possible, but, at any rate, it is the safest."

"I humbly confess that I cannot understand it at all."

Mr. Rallier began laughing.

"My good fellow," he replied, "you will understand at the right time, so be easy. You need only know, that in acting as I am doing, I am carrying out to the letter the instructions of Valentine, my friend and yours. It was not for nothing that he has so long borne the name of the Trail-hunter; besides, you remember the prairie adage, which has always appeared to me full of good sense, 'The shortest road from one point to another is a crooked line.' Well, we are following the crooked line, that is all. Besides, in all that is about to take place, you must remain completely out of the question, and restrict yourself to being a spectator, rather than an actor, and willing to obey me in everything I may order. Does this part displease you?"

The Frenchman said this with the merry accent and delightful simplicity which formed the basis of his character, and which caused everybody to like him whom accident brought in contact with him.

"I have no repugnance to obey you, Señor Don Antonio," the Tigrero answered. "The confidence our common friend places in you is a sure guarantee to me of your intentions. Hence dispose of me as you think proper, without fearing the slightest objection on my part."

"That is the way to talk," the banker said, with a laugh. "Now, to begin, my dear señor, you will do me the pleasure of changing your dress, for the one you wear is slightly too worldly for the place to which we are going."

"Change my dress?" the Tigrero exclaimed. "Diablos! you ought to have told me so at your house."

"Unnecessary, my dear sir. I have all you require here."

"Here?"

"Well, you shall see," he said, as he took from one of the coach pockets a Franciscan's gown, while from the other he drew a pair of sandals and a cord. "Have you not worn this dress before?"

"I have."

"Well, you are going to put it on again, and for the following reasons: At the convent, people believe (or pretend to believe, which comes to the same thing) that you are a Franciscan monk. For the sake, then, of persons who are not in the secret, it is necessary that I should be accompanied by a monk, and more, that they may be able, if required, to take their oaths to the fact."

"I obey you. But will not your coachman be surprised at seeing a Franciscan emerge from the carriage into which he showed a caballero?"

"My coachman? Pardon me, but I do not think you looked at him?"

"Indeed, I did not. All these Indians are alike, and equally hideous."

"That is true; however, look at him."

Don Martial bent forward, and slightly lowered the shutter.

"Curumilla!" he cried, in amazement, as he drew back. "He, and so well disguised?"

"Do you now believe that he will be surprised?"

"I was wrong."

"No, but you do not take the trouble to reflect."

"Well, I will put on the gown since I must. Still, with your permission, I will keep my weapons under it."

"Caspita! my permission? On the contrary, I order you to do so. But what are they?"

"You shall see. A machete, a knife, and a pair of pistols."

"That is first-rate. If necessary, I shall be able to find you a rifle. Trust to me for that."

While talking thus, the Tigrero had changed his dress; that is to say, he had simply put the gown over his other clothes, fastened the rope round his body, and substituted the sandals for his boots.

"There," the Frenchman continued, "you are a perfect monk."

"No; I want something more, something which is even indispensable."

"What's that?"

"The hat."

"That's true."

"That part of my costume I hardly know how we shall obtain."

"Man of little faith!" the Frenchman said with a smile, "see, and be confounded!"

While speaking thus he raised the front cushion, opened the box it covered, and pulled out the hat of a monk of St. Francis, which he gave the Tigrero.

"And now do you want anything else, pray?" he asked, mockingly.

"Indeed, no. Why, your carriage is a perfect locomotive shop!"

"Yes, it contains a little of everything. But we have arrived," he added, seeing the carriage stop. "You remember that you must in no way make yourself prominent, and simply confine yourself to doing what I tell you. That is settled, I think?"

The Frenchman opened the door, for the carriage had really stopped in front of the Convent of the Bernardines. Two or three ill-looking fellows were prowling about: and, in spite of their affected indifference, it was easy to recognize them for spies. The Frenchman and his companion were not deceived. They got out with an indifference as well assumed as that of the spies, and approached the door slowly, which was opened at their first knock, and closed again behind them with a speed that proved the slight confidence the sister porter placed in the individuals left outside.

"What do you desire, señores?" she asked, politely, after curtseying to the newcomers with a smile of recognition.

"My dear sister," the Frenchman answered, "be good enough to inform the holy mother abbess of our visit, and ask her to favour us with an interview for a few moments."

"It is still very early, brother," the nun answered, "and I do not know if holy mother can receive you at this moment."

"Merely mention my name to her, sister, and I feel convinced that she will make no difficulty about receiving us."

"I doubt it, brother, for, as I said before, it is very early. Still, I am willing to tell her, in order to prove to you my readiness to serve you."

"I feel deeply grateful to you for the kindness, sister."

The sister then left the parlour, after begging the two gentlemen to wait a moment. During her absence the Frenchman and his companion did not exchange a syllable; however, this absence was short, and only lasted a few minutes.

Without speaking, the sister made the visitors a sign to follow her, and led them to the parlour where we have already taken the reader, and where the abbess was waiting for them.

The Mother Superior was pale, and seemed anxious and preoccupied. She invited the two gentlemen to sit down, and waited silently till they addressed her. They, on their side, seemed to be waiting for her to inquire the nature of their visit; but, as she did not do so, and this silence threatened to be prolonged for some time, Mr. Rallier resolved on breaking it.

"I had the honour, madam," he said, with a respectful bow, "to send you yesterday, by one of my servants, a letter, in which I informed you of this morning's visit."

"Yes, caballero," she at once, answered, "I duly received this letter, and your sister Helena is ready to go away with you, whenever you express the wish. Still permit me to make one request of you."

"Speak, madam, and if I can be of any service to you, believe me, that I shall eagerly seize the opportunity."

"I know not, caballero, how to explain myself, for what I have to say to you is really so strange that I fear lest it should call up a smile to your lips. Although Doña Helena has only been a few months in our convent, she has made herself so beloved by all her companions, through her charming character, that her departure is an occasion of mourning for all of us."

"You render me very happy and very proud by speaking thus of my sister, madam."

"This praise is only the expression of the strictest truth, caballero. We are all really most grieved to see her leave us thus. Still, I should not have ventured thus to make myself the interpreter of our regrets, were there not a very strong reason that renders it almost a duty to speak to you."

"I am listening to you, madam, though I can guess beforehand what you are going to say to me."

She looked at him in surprise.

"You guess! Oh, it is impossible, señor," she exclaimed.

The Frenchman smiled.

"My sister, Doña Helena, as is generally the case in convents, has chosen one of her companions, whom she loves more than the others, and made her her intimate friend. Is such the case, madam?"

"How do you know it?"

He continued; with a smile —

"Now, this young lady, so beloved not only by Helena but by you, madam, and all your community, is a gentle, kind, loving girl, who, in consequence of a great misfortune, became insane, but whom your tender care has restored to reason. Still, you keep the latter fact a profound secret, before all from her guardian, who, not contented with having stripped her of her fortune, now insists of robbing her of her happiness by forcing her to marry him."

"Señor, señor," the abbess exclaimed, as she rose from her seat, with an astonishment blended with terror, "who are you that you know so many things of which I believed the whole world ignorant?"

"Who am I, madam? the brother of Helena, that is to say, a man in whom you can place the most entire confidence. Hence permit me to proceed."

The abbess, still suffering from extreme agitation, sat down again.

"Go on, caballero," she said.

"The guardian of Doña Anita, either that he has suspicion, or for some other motive, wrote to you yesterday, ordering you to prepare her to marry him within twenty-four hours. Since the receipt of this fatal letter, Doña Anita has been plunged in the deepest despair, a despair further heightened by the sudden departure of my sister, the only friend in whose arms she can safely reveal her heart's secrets. But you, madam, who are so holy and good, are aware that God can at his pleasure confound the projects of the wicked, and change wormwood into honey. Did you not receive a visit yesterday from Don Serapio de la Ronda?"

"Yes, that gentleman deigned to visit me a few moments before I received the fatal letter to which you have referred."

"Did not Don Serapio, on leaving you, say these words: 'Be kind enough to inform Doña Anita that a friend is watching over her; that this friend has already given her unequivocal proofs of the interest he takes in her happiness, and that, on the day when she again sees the Franciscan monk, to whom she confessed once before, all her misfortunes will be ended?'"