CHAPTER VIII.
According to the apologue, every man carries on his back a satchel, inwhich are deposited his infirmities and vices, and which, though thusconcealed from his own eyes, lies very invitingly open to the inspectionof his friends. Not satisfied with this exposure of foibles, there aresome good-natured moralists, who would dive deeper into the secrets oftheir neighbours, and who lament, with the old heathen metaphysician,that heaven had not clapped windows into their breasts, so that theymight detect even the iniquity of thoughts. This regret may be avoidedby all who are willing to satisfy curiosity at their own expense; forheaven has fitted most bosoms with private loopholes, through which eachman may survey at his leisure the workings of his own spirit. A peepthrough the secret casement will disclose something startling, if nothumbling, to many, who, in the vanity of good works, are disposed touplift themselves above their fellows;--such, perhaps, as rationalprinciples, and even kindly feelings, taking their hue from 'thatsmooth-faced gentleman,'--that biassing spirit which is morecomprehensively expressed in Shakespeare's phrase of _Commodity_ than inthe more familiar one of Interest; for it is true of us all, thatvirtues are sometimes nothing but passions in disguise, and that reasonhas a marvellous facility in acquiring the tones of worldly-wisdom. Ifthe mere grovelling villain,--the robber, assassin, or slayer of man'speace,--can find some such spectacle near to his heart as the surgeon'sknife exposes in the breast of a cankered corse, what may _he_ detect,whose sublimer villany has led, or is leading him, to distinction, upona highway paved with the miseries of mankind? Methinks, the breast ofthe ambitious man is a labyrinth of some such caverns as perforate thebowels of a volcano, in whose depths are lost all the petty details ofcrime, committed, or meditated,--in which there is no light but thatwhich bubbles up from the lava of the vast passion,--and in which thereis even no grandeur, that has not arisen from convulsions the mostdisorganizing and unnatural. Such a heart is, at least to the limitedken of others, a chaos,--but a chaos from which he who imbosoms it, andwho alone can understand it, calls up,--less like a god than ademon,--the evil elements, which create the lurid sphere his greatness.
In the bosom of the Conquistador there was a corner, into which theblaze of ambition had not yet penetrated, and where the common passionsof our nature were left to rage and struggle as in the heart of a meanermortal. As he looked therein, he gave himself up to thoughts whichdevoured him, while his countenance betrayed, for a time at least,nothing beyond such lassitude and faintness as may have characterizedthe Spartan boy, while bleeding under the fangs of the beast heconcealed in his bosom.
As he sat brooding in this apparently calm, yet deeply sufferinglethargy, there glided into the apartment, from one of the curtaineddoors on the right hand, a figure, which, seen for the first time and inthe dusky twilight already darkening around, might, to superstitiouseyes, have seemed an apparition,--it was so strange, so fair, somajestic, and so mournful. It presented a stature taller than belongs tothe beauty of woman, yet not inconsistent with the conception of adivinity; and to this a singular dignity was given by flowing andvoluminous robes of a grayish texture, which, both in hue and fashion,bore an air of monastic simplicity, without precisely resembling thoseof any one order. A sort of hood, or veil, drawn a little aside andresting upon the brow, gave to view a female countenance of wonderfulloveliness, and not without a share of that commanding dignity, whichdistinguished her figure. Her hair, shorn, or perhaps bound behind by afillet, and thus almost altogether concealed by the hood, gave yet tothe gaze two long locks, broad and black, which, falling over eithercheek, were lost among the folds of the veil which her right hand heldupon her bosom. A complexion dark, yet not tawny,--a chin and nostrilscarved like the most exquisite statuary,--lips of dusky crimson,--a browof marble, and an eye of midnight, made up a countenance both beautifuland characteristic, yet contradictory in the expression of its severalparts, and sometimes even in the expression of the same features. Thus,the first impression made upon a spectator by the whole visage, was suchas could only be effected by extreme gentleness of disposition; whilethe second, he scarce knew why, spoke of energy and decision, none theless striking for being concealed under a mask so captivating. Thus,also, the eyes, very large and set widely apart, conveyed, on ordinaryoccasions, the idea of a spirit passive, melancholy, and inanimate;though the slightest depression of the brow, the smallest motion of thelid, transformed them at once into the brightest torches of passion. Ifone could conceive the spirit of a Philomela--a compound of sweettenderness and still sweeter melancholy--dashed with the fire of aPenthesilea, he might conjure up to his mind's eye a correctrepresentation of the mysterious being, (alluded to by Villafana, underthe name of La Monjonaza, or the Nun, the word being a sort of cantaugmentative of _Monja_, a nun,) whom an extraordinary destiny hadthrown among the warlike invaders of Mexico.
As she passed from the thick curtain and advanced towards the platform,on which sat the moody general, her visage presented none of itsordinary mildness; on the contrary, her brows were knit together, herlip retracted, and the look with which she regarded him whom all otherswere learning to fear, was bold, stern, and even fiercely hostile.
The rustling of the curtain, the light sound of her footstep, the brightglance of her eye, when she paused before him, all alike failed to makean impression on the general's senses. She perceived that he was in awaking dream, absorbingly profound and painful, and she stood insilence, from disdainful pride, or perhaps with a woman's curiosity,endeavouring to trace the workings of his spirit from the revelations ofhis countenance, which, by this time, had changed from a stonyinexpressiveness to agitation and distortion. At this moment, the headof the Conqueror was bent forwards, and his eyes directed upon thefloor; but she saw enough in the writhing features, and the foreheadalmost impurpled with blood, to know that the passions then convulsinghis bosom, were dark and deadly.
At this sight, the frown gradually passed away from her own visage, andshe stood regarding him for the space of several minutes, with a calmand melancholy intentness. Then, perceiving that his lips, though movingas if in speech, gave out no articulate sound, she exclaimed, with avoice that thrilled to his soul, though subdued to the lowest accents,
"Arise, assassin! It is _not_ just, it is _not_ expedient; and he shallNOT perish!"
It seemed as if she had read his heart. He started up, surprised andconfounded; and his first act was to cross himself, as if to exorcise afiend, conjured up by the mere spell of evil thoughts. He even gavevoice to two or three interjections of alarm, before perceiving that therebuke came only from lips of earth.
"Hah! hah! Santa Maria! Santos y Angeles! hah!--Ho! ho! Infeliz!Magdalena! fair conqueror of hearts! bright converter of souls thatshalt be! is it thou, _Monja mia Santisima_? most devout saint of theveil?" he cried, recovering his self-possession, and banishing everytrace of passion with astonishing address. "By thy bright eyes ofheaven,--and thanks be thine for the good deed,--thou hast waked me froma dream of night-mare, a most horrible vision. These naps o' theafternoon are but provokers of Incubus,--ay, and Succuba into thebargain. I thank thee, bright Infeliz: it is better to be waked by thyvoice, than by sweet music!"
"And dost thou think," said the lady, with a voice whose deep but notunfeminine tones suited so well with the mournfulness of heremphasis,--"dost thou think, I see not, this moment, into thy bosom?Visions and sleep! Speak of visions to thy dull conquerors: they whodream of immortal renown, can best appreciate a vision of bloodshed.Speak of sleep to thy duller victims: the stupid wretches who slumberwith the chain at their necks, may well believe that the enslaver hasalso his seasons of repose. But talk not of these to _me_, who look uponthee neither with the eyes of follower nor of foe. Thou canst not sleep,thou dost not dream: thy head is too full of fame, thy foot too deep inblood, thy heart too black with evil thoughts--No, nevermore canst thousleep, nevermore, nevermore!"
The last words were uttered with a cadence so extremely melancholy, andwith a manner so much like that of
one who apostrophizes self, that astranger overhearing them, and marking the look and gesture--theupturned eye and the folding of arms on the breast--would have naturallysupposed they referred rather to herself than to another. This was,indeed, a suspicion, entertained, in part, by Cortes, who, somewhatconfounded by the calm decision with which she rejected a deceitfulattempt to explain expressions of countenance so ominous as those he haddisplayed, now recovered himself, and said, with an air of gravesympathy, in which earnestness could not conceal a vein of sarcasm andbagatelle, that were parts of his nature,
"Fair Infeliz, the Unhappy, (since by this lugubrious epithet you chooseto be called,) it is now some two months since you dropped among us fromthe clouds, the fairest, shrewdest and strangest, as well as the mostbroken-hearted, and self-accusing of all the angels that have fallenfrom paradise. For mine own part, however fervently I may thank heavenfor sending me such a minister, I have not yet got over my amazement atyour presence; which I indeed regard with much the same wonder wherewithI should behold the sun of heaven take up his quarters at my tent-door."
"In this particular," said the lady, with the utmost tranquillity, "youshould have been satisfied, (had it accorded with your nature to believeany solution of a problem, that was not suggested by your ownimagination,) that the deceptions of others, and no will of my own,brought me from Santiago to Mexico, in a ship which should have carriedme to Jamaica.--Your allies do not fit out vessels openly for this land,under the eye of Velasquez.--But why ask you me this? Hast thou nobetter device to lure me from my purpose? I came, not to speak ofmyself, but of others. Thou couldst have played the lapwing more subtly,hadst thou dwelt upon the whispers, the nods, the smiles of contempt andthe words of scorn, that heralded a compelled coming, find which requitean inevitable stay. But learn, if thou hast not yet learned it, thatthese things are felt more than they are feared, and that she who hasnot deserved it, may sometimes have the courage to endure even adegrading misconstruction. Why hast thou not insinuated _this_?"continued the singular being, with a voice that betrayed more feelingthan her pride confessed: "this would have drowned every other thoughtin a true woman; for to woman, good name and fame are more thanlife-blood,--yes, more than life!--I save thee, however, the trouble; Iam reminded of my condition,--a woman alone in thy camp, alone in thyhands;--and yet I return to my purpose, which concerns not myself, butanother. Wilt thou have me speak further of myself? If it last till themidnight, be sure I will yet speak of that which I have in view."
"Of thyself, then, beauteous Infeliz," said Cortes, admiringly; "for Ivow to heaven, thou art the marvel of womankind, whom I desire tounderstand even more than to adore. Sit thou upon my barbarian throne,and I will fling me at thy feet, in token that I acknowledge thysupremacy in wit, wisdom, subtle observation, determination, and allother virtues that can grace woman,--ay, or man either; for I swear bymy conscience, I think thou art valiant also, fearing nothing that walksunder heaven or above the abyss. To the throne then, as queen of mymystery."
"I will answer thee where I stand," said Infeliz, calmly disengaging thehand which the Conquistador had taken to lead her to the platform; "andthink not, this gallant folly will make me a whit quicker ofapprehension, or reply. Make thy demands, and gain thereby what timethou wilt to answer mine; for this is thy purpose."
"Well then," said the Captain-General, with a look of not less respectthan curiosity, "make me acquainted with this. Wherefore, as thy cominghither was so much against thy will, hast thou not once demanded to betaken back to the islands?"
"Because it is not yet my will to be discharged from your presence,"replied the lady, calmly.
"Be thou of this mind for ever," said the general, with an air ofsincerity. "Now let me know, I pray you, why it is that I am somewhatmore forward in confiding to thy scrutiny my secret thoughts than to thebest and wisest of my bold cavaliers?"
"Because thou knowest I neither love thee nor hate thee; because I losenot good-will by asking honours and spoils, nor by boasting of servicesand ability; but chiefly am I troubled with your confidence, because Iam the only one who lists not to have it."
"By my faith, thou art very right, especially in the last reason ofall," said Cortes, with a laugh; "for secrets are like gnats andmusket-bullets, they ever crowd thickest after those who strive most toavoid them.--Tell me now, fair and most provoking Infeliz, why, when Ihave flung thee open the whole book of my confidence, thou givest me nota single chapter of thine?"
"Because it extends not beyond that single chapter," replied LaMonjonaza, patiently, "hath neither beginning nor end, and is, beside,in a language which thou canst not understand."
"Pho, you put me off with nothing," said Don Hernan, again taking thehand of his remarkable guest. "I have but one more question to ask you.Why is it, (and I pray you to forgive me the question,) that, with theconsciousness that your situation in this mad land and knavish army,exposes you not only to degrading suspicion, but even to absolutepersonal danger, you betray no apprehension of the wild reprobates amongwhom you are placed? that you show no dread even of me?"
"Because," said the maiden, removing her right hand, which she had, upto this moment, preserved upon her breast, and drawing aside the thickfolds of veil and mantle,--"because, for the wretch who fears not thewoman's arms of modesty and helplessness, I bear with me a weapon whichwill secure his respect."
And as she spoke, the eye of Don Hernan fell upon a naked and glitteringponiard thrust through her girdle, and worn as if it had long formed apart of the habit.
There was something inexpressibly impressive in the calm and simpledignity with which, in the very gesture that pointed out a protection soinsufficient, she acknowledged a weakness, in all other respects,unfriended. Cortes, in the multitude of his base and graspingly selfishattributes, was not without some traits of a more generous character;and especially admiring a courage so self-relying, so unaffectedly real,and perhaps so much akin to his own, he had enough of the old leaven ofchivalric feeling, to understand and appreciate the claims of the sex tohis compassion and protection. That he had other reasons for treating LaMonjonaza with respect, cannot be denied.
"Give me thy hand, Magdalena," he said, with an action and voice ratherindicating the familiarity of a patron than that of a presumptuoussuitor: "Thou art right; thou art a creature after mine own heart; and Iswear to thee, I will do thee no wrong, nor suffer it to be done thee byanother. Heed not what may be said of thee; my dogs would bay an angel,should one condescend to pay them a visit. Thy cloister-like garmentsare not amiss;--there be more that venerate than malign thee, for thisreason; and, thank heaven, the padre Olmedo finds no sin in thy wearingthem. Wilt thou be seated? There is peace between us; let there beconfidence. What hast thou to ask of me, Magdalena? Thy revenge is athand."
The maiden returned the scrutinizing look of the general with one which,if not so piercing, was at least quite as steady:
"Your excellency has thrice called me, who call myself Infeliz, by aname not authorized by any revealments of mine," she said: "you speakalso of revenge,--of _my_ revenge!--Yes," she muttered, with a quiveringlip; "this is a thing to be thought of, not spoken."
She paused a moment, and Cortes, casting a quick eye round theapartment, said, in a voice confidentially low and insinuating,
"I would the story had come from yourself. But it matters not,--I haveit; and disguise is no longer availing. You lose nothing by the change,for I see, thy spirit hath the elements of mine own. Ah! water in thedesert! the first kiss of a lover! breath to the suffocating!--such isrevenge to the soul of the mighty!--I know thee, thy history and thypurpose.--I have dandled the boy Hilario upon my knee!"
The strong and meaning stress laid upon the last abrupt words, onlyserved to drive the colour from the maiden's cheeks and lips. In allother respects, she remained calm and collected, and replied gravely,--
"The tale comes from the Alguazil Villafana--"
"Hah!" said Cortes, in surprise; "how knowest thou that?"
&
nbsp; "Because there is no other,--no other, save _one_, who will not speakit,--in all this land, who knows so much of me; and because, were theretwenty, the man whom heaven has cursed with the industrious treachery ofa spider, and the rage to entangle all things in his flimsy web, wouldbe the first to betray me."
"Thou sayst the truth of Villafana," said Cortes, with a laugh ofpeculiar exultation. "In spirit and intention, he is the insect you havenamed; but yet he spins his web, less like the spider, with the chanceof destroying, than the silken-caterpillar, that toils for his master,who will smother him in his work, as soon as it is perfected. Ay, thypenetration is clear, thy conception just; the knave is, in all things,a traitor,--a double, a triple,--a centupled traitor!"
"And you both spare him, and give him the means of multiplying hisdangerous villanies?"
"I do, by my conscience!" said Cortes, vivaciously. "There is a charm init, and no little policy. Dost thou think this little fly can deceive?can deceive _me_?--Wert thou a man, thou wouldst know, that even abovethe triumph of vengeance, is the joy of him who watches the nets thathis foe is spreading, and, as he watches, fastens them softly down uponthe ensnarer."
"And is the insect worthy to be toiled by the lion?"
"Ay,--when the lion is a _man_!--This is my diversion; it is also myprofit. I would not for a thousand crowns, any harm should come to soserviceable a tool: a better decoy never circled the disaffected abouthim. He is the touchstone that reveals me the metal of thedoubtful,--the diamond that cuts me the adamant of malignancy. I lookthrough him, as through the philosopher's glass, and behold the millionthings of corruption that swarm in the hearts of the curs beneathhim.--By heaven! it joys me, that I have one to whom I can speak thesesecret blisses. Thou art my vizier, my very familiar. Know then, thatthis very night, the dog meditates a treachery, with which I will beacquainted, and yet seem unacquainted. By my conscience, it delights meto tell thee, with what exquisite industry the poor knave works me agood, while foolishly believing he is doing me an ill. Dost thou notremember that I have told thee, how much it concerns me to procure sometrusty envoy, to go between me and the young infidel, Guatimozin ofTenochtitlan?"
"I am familiar with your wishes."
"Learn then, that, this night, Villafana himself procures me theemissary I have myself sought after in vain,--a Mexican noble of highrank.--I could kiss the dog for his knavery!"
"And wherefore does he this?"
"Faith, in the amiable wish to reconcile some of the jarring elements ofhis conspiracy; to wit, the Tlascalans and Mexicans; the latter of whom,this night, will, with his good help, show the black-cheeked Xicotencalthe advantages to be gained by uniting with his mighty and royal enemyof Mexico, to secure the destruction of my insignificant self. Ha! ha!Is not the thought absurdly delightful! Ah, Villafana! Villafana! I haveno such merry conceited good-fellow as thou!"
La Monjonaza beheld the exultation, and listened to the mirthful laughof the Conqueror with much interest, and not a little surprise. It didindeed seem extraordinary, that he should be so heartily diverted by theaudacity of a villany that aimed at his downfall, and perhaps his life.But this very merriment indicated how many majestic fathoms he felthimself elevated above the reach of any arts of human malevolence oropposition. It was as if the eagle, flapping his wings amongthunder-clouds, shrieked with contempt at schoolboys shooting upbirdbolts from the village-green.--It gave a clew to a characteristicwhich Infeliz was not slow to unravel. A deep sigh from her lipsrecalled the general from his diversion.
"Thou sighest, Magdalena?" he cried.
"It was for thee," she answered: "I sighed, indeed, to think how muchand how truly _thou_, thus elevated by a touch of divinity above thechildren of men, dost yet resemble this miserable, grovelling, befooledVillafana!"
"What, I? Resemble him? resemble Villafana?"
"Deny it, if thou canst," said the maiden, with rebuking severity; "andif thou canst not, then humble thyself, and confess the base similitude.Thou differest from him but in this,--that, whereas, in one quality,thou art uplifted miles above his head, thou art, in another, sunk evenleagues _below_ him.--Thou frownest? Hast thou discovered that angeradds aught to the state of dignity? Thou dost, this moment, even withthe crawling venom of Villafana, with a rage still more abased, seek alife thou hast not courage openly to destroy."
"Santiago!" cried Cortes, in a heat; "by St. Peter, you are over-bitter.But pho, I will not be angry with thee. Dost thou think me this cowardthing?"
"Hast thou not doomed the young man, Juan Lerma, a second time, todeath?" cried La Monjonaza, with an eye that trembled not a moment inthe gaze of the Captain-General; "and was it not with the embrace of aJudas? Oh, senor!" she continued, firmly, "say not that Villafana iseither base or craven. _He_ strikes at the strong man, who sits armedand with his eyes open: but thou, oh _thou_,--thou art content to aim atthe breast of the friendless and naked sleeper!--Judge between thyselfand Villafana."
It is impossible to express the mingled effects of shame and rage, thatdisfigured the visage and convulsed the frame of the Captain-General, atthis powerful and altogether unexpected rebuke. He smote his brow, hetook two or three hasty steps over the floor; when, at last, a thoughtstriking him, he rushed back to the chider, snatched up her hand, andsaid, with an attempt at laughter, painfully contrasted with his workingand even agonized visage,
"Dost thou quarrel with me for fighting thy battles? Oh, by St. James,it is better to draw sword _on_ a friend than _for_ him: ingratitudealways comes of it. Had I thought this of old, I had been a happier man,and thou never hadst mourned the death of Hilario;--no, by'r lady,Hilario had been a living man, and thou happy with him in the island!"
As he hurried over these words, the diversion they gave to his thoughts,enabled him rapidly to recover his self-command, in which, as in affairsof less personal consequence, he always exhibited wonderful power. Thisaccomplished, he continued, with an earnest voice,
"Concealment is now useless: the time waxes, when I must think of otherthings: let us shrive one another even as two friars, and deceive oneanother no further than they. Methinks, what I do is for thy especialsatisfaction.--An ill loon I am, to do so much for one who so bitterlycensures me!--Who thou art, and what thou art, I know not: thou wert anangel, couldst thou give over chiding. The young Hilario del Milagro wasthe son of mine old friend Antonio:--a very noble boy,--I remember himwell.--By heaven, thy hand is turned to ice! Art thou ill?"
"Do I look so?" said the maiden, with a faint laugh. Her face had of asudden become very pale, yet she spoke firmly, though not without avisible effort. "I listen to thy confession."
"To mine! By my troth, I am confessing _thy_ sins and sorrows, and notmine. Well, Magdalena," he continued, "thy emotion is not amiss: it isnot every maiden can think calmly of the death of her lover, knowingthat his slayer is nigh.--I knew Hilario, when a boy,--ay, good faith,and Juan Lerma, too, his playmate and foster-brother, or his young pageand varlet, I know not which. It was on Antonio's recommendation, that Iafterwards took this foundling knave to my bosom, and made him--no, notwhat he _is_! for this is a thing of his own making. I sent him toEspanola to recruit: he loitered,--he returned to the house ofMilagro--Shall I say more? Hilario, his brother, the son of his bestfriend and patron, was the betrothed husband of Magdalena; and him didthe wolf-cub slay. Wo betide me! for it was I that taught him the use ofhis weapon.--Is not this enough? Accident hath brought thee to Mexico;thou seest the killer of thy lover; and, like a true daughter of Spain,thy heart is full of vengeance.--Is not this true? Disguise thy wrath inwild sarcasm no longer. Were he the king's son, he should----Pho! recallthy words: Is it not 'just?' is it not 'expedient?'"
To these sinister demands, Magdalena replied with astonishing composure:
"All this is well. Shrive now thyself--Hast _thou_ any cause,personally, to desire his death?"
"Millions!" replied the general, grinding his teeth; "millions,millions! to which the death of Hilario, wringing at thy breast, is butas a
gnat-bite to the sting of adders.--Millions, millions!"
"Give him then to death," said Magdalena, with a voice so grave andpassionless, that it instantly surprised the Conquistador out of hisfury; "give him to death,--but let it be in _thy_ name, not _mine_."
"Art thou wholly inexplicable?" he cried. "I read thee by the alphabetof human passions, and I make thee not out,--no, not so much as a word.Thy flesh warms and chills, thine eye swims and flashes, thy brow bends,thy lip curls, thy breast heaves, thy frame trembles; and yet art thoumore than mortal, or less. When shall I understand thee?"
"When thou canst look to heaven, and say, 'I have done no wrong'--No,no! not to heaven; for what child of earth can look thitherward, andunveil the actions of life?--When thou canst lay thy hand upon thybosom, and appealing, not to divine justice, but to that of humanreason, say, 'What I do is just:'--in other words, _never_. You aresurprised: you bade me repeat my words: I do:--'It is _not_ just, it is_not_ expedient, and Juan Lerma shall _not_ die!'"
"Now by my conscience!" said Cortes, "this is the true dog-star madness!Wert thou not behind the curtain, and didst thou not shriek at sight ofhim? Mystery that thou art, unveil thyself--Wherefore tarriest thou inthis land, suspected, scorned, degraded, if not to have vengeance onhim? Wherefore, I say, wherefore?"
"To _save_ him," replied the lady, boldly,--"to save him from the furythat has brought thee to the level of the Alguazil. Else had I longsince returned to the islands. Revoke therefore thy commission, and, inany way thou wilt, so that it carry with it neither secret malice noropen insult, contrive to discharge him from thy service. His life ischarmed--it is in my keeping."
"Oho!" said the Captain-General, surveying La Monjonaza with an exultingsneer; "sits the wind in that quarter? And thou art but a woman afterall! Now was I but a fool, I trow, not to bethink me how the wife ofUriah forgot the death of her husband, when she saw a path open to thearms of his murderer. Is it so indeed? Thou hast fallen from admirationto pity."
"She who withstands evil thoughts and maligning words, will not weepeven at the contempt of commiseration," said Magdalena, with a sigh.
"Villafana has then deceived me,--or rather, poor fool, has deceivedhimself, as is more natural," said Cortes, with a malicious grin. "Neverbelieve me, but thou shalt rule me in this matter, as in others. JuanLerma shall thank thee for his life, even for the sake of the Maid ofMexico,--thy brown rival, Zelahualla."
As he spoke thus, he watched closely the effect of his words onMagdalena, and beheld a sudden fire light up in her eyes, succeeded bysuch paleness as had always covered her visage, when he referred to thedeath of Hilario. Nevertheless, she did not avert her glance, norexhibit any other manifestation of feeling, except that she replied nota single word.
"It is the truth that I tell thee," he muttered in a low voice, takingup, as if in compassion, her hand, which was yielded passively, and wasagain cold and dewy; "she is very lovely,--very,--and a king's daughter.He fought for her love with Guzman. So, perhaps, he fought Hilario forthine. By my conscience! he makes love over blood-thirstily! When Ispoke to him of Zelahualla,--nay, I mentioned not her name; I spoke onlyof his friends in the palace of Mexico--yet the colour flushed over hischeeks. Nevertheless, thou shalt rule me; thou shalt have time forconsideration: the expedition to Tochtepec can be delayed. Dost thouthink he would have consented to be mine envoy to Tenochtitlan, but forthe hope of seeing his princess? I could tell thee another thing--(thereare more rivals than one)--but it matters not,--it matters not! Thouwilt not be content with--pity!--Arouse thee, and speak.--Art thoumarble?"
At this moment, and while it seemed indeed that the unhappy Monjonaza,notwithstanding that her countenance was still inexpressively placid,had been turned to stone, the curtain of the great door, or principalentrance, was drawn aside, and the cavalier Don Francisco de Guzmanstrode hastily into the apartment. The sound of his footsteps, more thanthe warning gesture of Cortes, recalled her to her senses. She raisedher hand to her brow, and the long hood falling over her countenance,she turned to depart through the door by which she had entered. Theevening was already closing fast, and the shadowy obscurity of thechamber perhaps concealed her from the eyes of the intruder.Nevertheless, Cortes perceived, as she glided away, that her step wasaltered and tottering, and that her hands fumbled for a moment at thedoor curtain, as if she knew not how to remove it. It yielded, however,at last, and she vanished from his eyes.
"Poor fool," he muttered, with a feeling divided between scorn, anger,and pity, "thou hast discovered to me the broken postern of thy spirit:the walls are strong, but the citadel is in ruins. This is somewhatmarvellous,--I will know more of it. It is a new and another thing to beremembered.--Come, amigo: it is over dark here for thy business. We willwalk in the open air."
So saying, he took Guzman's arm, and departed from the chamber.
The Infidel; or, the Fall of Mexico. Vol. I. Page 8