He was proudly draped in his poncho of brilliant colors; at his girdle hung one of those Malay poignards, so terrible in a practiced hand, for they seem to be riveted to the arm which strikes. In North America, on the shores of Lake Ontario, Martin Paz would have been a great chief among those wandering tribes which have fought with the English so many heroic combats.
Martin Paz knew that Sarah was the daughter of the wealthy Samuel; he knew her to be the most charming woman in Lima; he knew her to be betrothed to the opulent mestizo André Certa; he knew that by her birth, her position and her wealth she was beyond the reach of his heart; but he forgot all these impossibilities in his all-absorbing passion. It seemed to him that this beautiful young girl belonged to him, as the llama to the Peruvian forests, as the eagle to the depths of immensity.
Plunged in his reflections, Martin Paz hastened his steps to see the saya of the young girl sweep the threshold of the paternal dwelling; and Sarah herself, half-opening then her mantilla, cast on him a bewildering glance of gratitude.
He was quickly joined by two Indians of the species of zambos , pillagers and robbers, who walked beside him.
"Martin Paz," said one of them to him, "you ought this very evening to meet our brethren in the mountains."
"I shall be there," coldly replied the other.
"The schooner Annonciation has appeared in sight from Callao, tacked for a few moments, then, protected by the point, rapidly disappeared. She will undoubtedly approach the land near the mouth of the Rimac, and our bark canoes must be there to relieve her of her merchandise. We shall
need your presence."
"You are losing time by your observations. Martin Paz knows his duty and he will do it."
"It is in the name of the Sambo that we speak to you here."
"It is in my own name that I speak to you."
"Do you not fear that he will find your presence in the suburb of San Lazaro at this hour unaccountable?"
"I am where my fancy and my will have brought me."
"Before the house of the Jew?"
"Those of my brethren who are disposed to find fault can meet me to-night in the mountain."
The eyes of the three men sparkled, and this was all. The zambos regained the bank of the Rimac, and the sound of their footsteps died away in the darkness.
Martin Paz had hastily approached the house of the Jew. This house, like all those of Lima, had but two stories; the ground floor, built of bricks, was surmounted with walls formed of canes tied together and covered with plaster; all this part of the building, constructed to resist earthquakes, imitated, by a skillful painting, the bricks of the lower story; the square roof, called asoetas , was covered with flowers, and formed a terrace full of perfumes and pretty points of view.
A vast gate, placed between two pavilions, gave access to a court; but as usual, these pavilions had no window opening upon the street.
The clock of the parish church was striking eleven when Martin Paz stopped before the dwelling of Sarah. Profound silence reigned around; a flickering light within proved that the saloon of the Jew Samuel was still occupied.
Why does the Indian stand motionless before these silent walls? The cool atmosphere woos him with its transparency and its perfumes; the radiant stars send down upon the sleeping earth rays of diaphanous mildness; the white constellations illumine the darkness with their enchanting light; his heart believes in those sympathetic communications which brave time and distance.
A white form appears upon the terrace amid the flowers to which night has only left a vague outline, without diminishing their delicious perfumes; the dahlias mingle with the mentzelias, with the helianthus, and, beneath the occidental breeze, form a waving basket which surrounds Sarah, the young and beautiful Jewess.
Martin Paz involuntarily raises his hands and clasps them with adoration. Suddenly the white form sinks down, as if terrified.
Martin Paz turns, and finds himself face to face with André Certa.
"Since when do the Indians pass their nights in contemplation?"
André Certa spoke angrily.
"Since the Indians have trodden the soil of their ancestors."
"Have they no longer, on the mountain side, some yaravis to chant, some boleros to dance with the girls of their caste?"
"The cholos ," replied the Indian, in a high voice, "bestow their devotion where it is merited; the Indians love according to their hearts."
André Certa became pale with anger; he advanced a step toward his immovable rival.
"Wretch! will you quit this place?"
"Rather quit it yourself," shouted Martin Paz; and two poignards gleamed in the two right hands of the adversaries; they were of equal stature, they seemed of equal strength, and the lightnings of their eyes were reflected in the steel of their arms.
André Certa rapidly raised his arm, which he dropped still more quickly. But his poignard had encountered the Malay poignard of the Indian; at the fire which flashed from this shock, André saw the arm of Martin Paz suspended over his head, and immediately rolled on the earth, his arm pierced through.