Don Valentine lived in the Población of old Carmen, near the fort, in one of the handsomest and largest houses of the colony.
A few hours after the events we have recorded, two persons were seated near a brasero in a drawing room of this mansion.
In this drawing room, elegantly furnished in the French style, a stranger on opening the door might have believed himself transported to the Faubourg St. Germain; there was the same luxury in the paper hangings, the same taste in the choice and arrangement of the furniture. Nothing was wanting; not even an Erard pianoforte, covered with the scores of operas sung at Paris, and, as if better to prove that glory travels a great distance, that genius has wings, the fashionable romance writers and poets filled a buhl cheffonier. Here everything recalled France and Paris, excepting the silver brasero in which the smouldering olive stones indicated Spain. Chandeliers holding pink wax candles lit up this magnificent withdrawing room.
Don Valentine Cardoso and his daughter Conchita were seated near the brasero.
Doña Concha, who was scarcely fifteen years of age, was exquisitely beautiful. The raven arch of eyebrows, traced as with a pencil, heightened the grace of her rather low and pale forehead; her large blue and thoughtful eyes, fringed with long brown lashes, contrasted harmoniously with her ebony black hair which curled round her delicate neck, and in which odoriferous jessamine flowers were expiring in delight. Short, like all true-blooded Spanish women, her waist was exquisitely small. Never had smaller feet trodden in the dance the Castilian grass plots, and never had a more dainty hand nestled in that of a lover. Her movements, careless as those of all the creoles, were undulating and full of salero as the Spaniards say.
Her dress, which was charmingly simple, consisted of a dressing gown of white cashmere, embroidered with large silk flowers in bright colours, and fastened round the hips by a cord and tassels. A Mechlin lace veil was carelessly thrown over her shoulders, while her feet were thrust into pink slippers, lined with swan's-down.
Doña Conchita was smoking a tiny husk cigarette, while talking to her father.
"Yes, father," she said, "a ship has arrived to day from Buenos Aires, with the prettiest birds in the world."
"Well, little one?"
"I fancy that my dear little father," she remarked, with an adorable pout, "is not at all gallant this evening."
"What do you know about it, young lady?" Don Valentine replied with a smile.
"No, have you really," she said, bounding with delight in her chair, and clapping her hands, "thought of "
"Buying you some birds? You will tomorrow see your aviary stocked with parrots, Bengalis, macaws, hummingbirds, in short, about four hundred specimens, you ungrateful little chit."
"Oh, how good you are, father, and how I love you," the girl replied, throwing her arms round Don Valentine's neck, and embracing him several times.
"Enough, enough, madcap. Do you want to stifle me with your caresses?"
"What can I do to requite your kindness?"
"Poor dear, I have only you to love now."
"Say adore, my darling father; for it is adoration you feel for me. Hence, I love you with all the strength God has placed in my heart."
"And yet," Don Valentine said, with a gentle accent of reproach, "you do not fear, naughty girl, to cause me anxiety."
"I?" Concha asked, with an internal tremor.
"Yes, you, you," he said, threatening her tenderly with his finger, "you hide something from me."
"Father!"
"Come, child, a father's eyes can read the heart of a girl of fifteen, and for some days past, if I am not mistaken, I have not been the sole object of your thoughts."
"That is true," the girl replied, with a certain amount of resolution.
"And whom are you dreaming of, little maid?" Don Valentine asked, hiding his anxiety behind a smile.
"Of Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Ah," the father cried, in a choking voice "and do you love him?"
"No," she answered; "listen, father, I will conceal nothing from you. No," she continued, laying her hand on her heart, "I do not love Don Torribio, still he occupies my thoughts; why, I cannot say, but his look troubles and fascinates me, his voice causes me a feeling of undefinable pain; he is handsome, his manners are elegant and noble, he has everything belonging to a gentleman of high caste, and yet something in him, something fatal, checks me, and inspires me with invincible repugnance."
"You romantic girl."
"Laugh at me, ridicule me," she said with a tremor in her voice. "Shall I confess all to you, father?"
"Speak with confidence."
"Well, I have a presentiment that this man will be dangerous to me."
"Child," Don Valentine replied, as he kissed her forehead, "what can he do to you?"
"I do not know; but I am afraid."
"Do you wish not to remain here any longer?"
"Heaven forbid! That would be hastening on the misfortune that threatens me."
"You are losing your head, and taking pleasure in creating chimeras."
At the same moment a man servant announced Don Torribio Carvajal, who entered the room.
The young man was dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, and the candles lit up his splendid face.
Father and daughter started.
Don Torribio walked up to Doña Concha, bowed to her gracefully, and offered her a superb bouquet of exotic flowers. She thanked him with a smile, took the bouquet, and almost without looking at it, laid it on a table.
In succession were announced the governor, Don Antonio Valverde, accompanied by his whole staff, and two or three other families, or altogether some fifteen persons. By degrees the conversation grew animated.
"Well, colonel," Don Valentine asked the governor, "What news from Buenos Aires?"
"Our great Rosas," the colonel answered, who was stifling in his uniform, "has again defeated Oribe's Unitarian savages."
"Heaven be praised! Perhaps that victory will procure us a little of that tranquillity which commerce requires."
"Yes," a colonist remarked, "the communications are becoming so difficult that nothing can be sent by land."
"Can the Indians be stirring?" a merchant asked anxiously, on hearing the observation.
"Oh!" the stout commandant interrupted, "There is no danger; the last lesson they received was rude, they will remember it a long time, and not dream of invading our frontiers for many a day to come."
An almost invisible smile played round Don Torribio's lips.
"In case of an invasion, do you consider them capable of seriously troubling the colony?"
"Hum!" Don Antonio answered, "Take them altogether they are poor scrubs."
The young man smiled again in a bitter and sinister manner.
"Excellency," he said, "I am of your opinion; I believe the Indians will do well in remaining at home."
"I should think so," the commandant exclaimed.
"Señorita," Don Torribio said, turning to Doña Concha, "would it be too great a favour to ask you to sing that delicious air from the Black Domino which you sang so exquisitely the other evening?"
The young lady, without farther pressing, sat down to the pianoforte, and sang the romance from the third act in a pure voice.
"I heard that sung in Paris by Madame Damoreau, a nightingale who has flown away, and I cannot say which of you displays more grace or simplicity."
"Don Torribio," Doña Concha answered, "you lived too long in France."
"Why so, señorita."
"Because you have come back a detestable flatterer."
"Bravo!" the governor said with a hearty laugh. "You see, Don Torribio, that our creoles are equal to the Parisian ladies in quickness of repartee."
"Incontestably, colonel," the young man replied; "but leave me alone," he added with an undefinable accent, "I shall soon take my revenge."