The Adventurers

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  FACE TO FACE.

  The door of the cuarto in which Dona Rosario was confined was thrownopen, and the Puelche warrior appeared; he held in his hand a rudeearthen lamp, the flame of which, although feeble, sufficed todistinguish objects. He had replaced his shabby hat upon his head, andits wide brim served as a mask to his features.

  "Come with me!" he said, in a rough voice, to the maiden.

  Conscious of the inutility of a resistance which could only be dangerousto her amidst the bandits who surrounded her, and bowing her head withresignation, she followed her guide in silence. Dona Maria had resumedher place in the ebony chair; with arms crossed, and her head hangingupon her bosom, she was buried in dark meditations. At the slight noisemade by the footsteps of the young lady, she drew herself up, a flash ofhatred gleamed from her dark eyes, and with, a gesture she commanded theIndian to retire. The Puelche obeyed.

  The two women examined each other intensely; their looks crossed; thehawk and the dove were face to face. A deathlike silence reigned in theapartment; at intervals the wind came in gusts and dismal moanings,through the ill-joined boards of the doors, shook the old building toits foundation, and agitated the flame of the only candle that illuminedthe vast gloomy room in which the two women were. After a sufficientlylong pause, the Linda, who, with that instinct which women possess insuch a high degree, had examined in detail, one by one, the numerousbeauties of the charming girl who stood pale and trembling before her,at length spoke--

  "Yes," she said, in a hollow voice, as if speaking to herself, andovercome by the evidence of the fact, "yes, this girl is beautiful; shehas everything to make her an object of love--to see her must be tolove her; well, this beauty, which up to this time has been her joy andher pride, grief shall wither rapidly; before one year has passed awayI am resolved that she shall become an object of pity and contempt forall. Oh!" she added, in a piercing, shrill voice, "I have her at lengthwithin the power of my vengeance!"

  "What have I done to you, madam, that you should hate me thus?" themaiden asked, in a plaintive voice, the sweet and melodious accent ofwhich would have softened anyone but her to whom she spoke.

  "What have you done to me, silly creature?" the Linda cried, boundingup like a wounded lioness, and placing herself close in front of DonaRosario--"what have you done to me?" and then added, with a loudlaugh--"Ah! ah! that's true, _you_ have done nothing to me!"

  "Alas, madam! I do not even know you; this is the first time I have beenin your presence; I, a poor young girl, whose life to the present timehas passed away in retirement--how can I have offended you?"

  "Yes, I allow it," the Linda replied; "you have done nothing to me; and,personally, as you have just said, I have nothing to reproach you with;but, by making you suffer, learn that it is upon _him_ I avenge myself."

  "I do not understand what you mean, madam," the maiden said, simply.

  "Senseless fool, do not play with the lioness who is ready to devouryou, or pretend to feign an ignorance of which I am not the dupe; if youhave not already divined my name, I will tell it you--I am Dona Maria,whom they call the Linda--do you understand me now?"

  "Not more than I did before, madam," replied Dona Rosario, with anaccent of frankness that shook the belief of her persecutor, in spite ofherself; "I have never even heard that name."

  "Can that be true?" she cried, doubtingly.

  "I swear it is."

  Dona Linda strode about the apartment with long, hasty steps. DonaRosario, more and more astonished, looked stealthily at this woman,without being able to account to herself for the emotion which herpresence, and the sound of her voice, caused her to experience; itwas not fear, still less was it joy, but an incomprehensible mixtureof sadness, joy, pity, and terror; an undefinable feeling, which,far from creating repulsion, drew her towards a woman whose odiousprojects were no secret to her, and from whom she knew she had so muchto dread. Singular sympathy; what Dona Rosario felt towards the Linda,the Linda felt towards Dona Rosario: in vain she called to her aid theremembrance of all the wrongs with which she fancied she had to reproachthe man whom she wished to strike in the person of the young girl; inthe innermost recesses of her heart, a voice, which constantly gainedstrength, spoke to her in favour of the maiden whom she was about tosacrifice to her hatred; the more she endeavoured to overcome thissentiment, for which she could not account, the more powerless she foundher efforts become; at length, she was on the point of being softened.

  "Oh!" she murmured, passionately, "what is going on within me? Am Iweak enough to allow myself to be subdued by the tears of that paltrycreature?"

  Like Indian warriors, who, when fastened to the stake of blood, singtheir own exploits to encourage them to endure bravely the tortureswhich their executioners silently prepare, the Linda recalled themaddening remembrance of all the outrages Don Tadeo had loaded her with;and with flashing eyes and trembling lips, she stopped short in front ofDona Rosario.

  "Listen to me, girl," she said, in a voice which passion caused totremble, "this is the first and last time we shall be in the presence ofeach other; and you shall know why I bear you such hatred. What you willlearn will be hereafter, perhaps, a consolation to you, and help you tobear with courage the miseries I reserve for you," she added, with thelaugh of a demon.

  "I will listen to you, madam," Rosario replied, meekly, "although I amcertain that what you are about to say cannot, in any sense, render meguilty with respect to you."

  "Do you think so?" the Linda said, in a tone of ironical compassion;"well, then, listen; we have time to talk, as you will not leave thisplace for an hour."

  This allusion to her approaching departure made the poor girl shudder,by recalling to her all that the departure threatened.

  "A woman," the Linda continued, "a young and beautiful woman, morebeautiful than you, fragile child of cities, whom the least stormbends like a weak reed--a woman, I say, had for love married a man,also young, and handsome as the evil angel before his fall, who withperfidiously golden words, by opening before her immense and unknownhorizons, had so seduced her, the poor, poor girl, that in a few dayshe induced her to abandon stealthily the roof which had sheltered herinfancy, and to which her aged father in vain recalled her up to the dayof his death, that he might bless and pardon her."

  "Oh, that is frightful!" cried Dona Rosario.

  "Why so? as he had married her, morality was satisfied, in the eyesof the world. This woman was pure, and could thenceforward move withhead erect before the crowd which had hailed her fall with laughter andcontempt. But everything passes away in this world, and most quickly ofall, the love of the most passionate man. Only a year after marriagethis woman, alone in the most retired room of her dwelling, wept overthe remembrance of the happiness which had left her for ever. Herhusband had deserted her! A child born of this union, a little fairgirl, a rosy-lipped cherub, whose eyes reflected the azure of theheavens, was the sole consolation which in her misfortunes was left tothe poor abandoned mother. One night, when she was plunged in sleep, herhusband stole like a thief into her house, seized the child, in spiteof the cries of the desolate mother, who threw herself in tears at hisfeet, and implored him by all he held sacred in the world. After roughlyrepulsing the despairing mother, who sank dying on the cold slabs of thefloor, this heartless and pitiless man disappeared with the child."

  "And the mother?" Dona Rosario anxiously asked, much affected by thestory which the Linda told, entirely to her own advantage.

  "The mother," she continued, in a low, broken voice, "the mother wasdoomed never to see her child again. She never has seen her! Prayers,threats, everything in turn, have been employed without success. Andnow, this mother, who adores her child, and would sacrifice her lifefor her,--this mother has vowed a hatred against this man, whom she sofondly loved, and who showed no pity to her, which no vengeance cansatisfy! Now, then, young girl, do you know the name of this mother?Say, do you know it? No, you do not? Well, then, I am this mother! andthe man w
ho ravished from her all her happiness--the man whom she hatesas she does the demon whose heart he bears, is Don Tadeo de Leon!"

  "Don Tadeo!" Rosario cried, starting back with surprise.

  "Yes!" the Linda said, furiously; "yes, Don Tadeo, your lover!"

  The maiden sprang towards Dona Maria, and seizing her arm violently, andplacing her face, inflamed with anger, close to that of the courtezan,who was stupefied at the energy she could not have expected from thisdelicate creature, cried indignantly,--

  "What have you dared to say, madam? Don Tadeo my lover! It is false,madam!"

  "Can this be true?" the Linda asked, eagerly. "Can I have been sogrossly mistaken? But then," she added, mistrustfully, "who are you? andby what title does he keep you always with him?"

  "I will tell you who I am, madam!" Rosario replied, proudly.

  All at once the hasty gallop of several horses was heard from without,mingled with cries and oaths.

  "What can the matter be?" said Dona Maria, turning pale.

  "Oh!" said Dona Rosario, clasping her hands fervently; "oh, my God! areyou sending me liberators?"

  "You are not free yet," the Linda said, with a bitter smile.

  The tumult increased greatly; the door, violently pushed from without,flew open, and several men rushed into the room.