The Free Lances Part 16

The Countess was now all action; and, responding to her roused energies, the other rushed towards the bell-pull, and gave it two or three vigorous jerks.

As it chanced, there were writing materials in the room; and, while waiting for the bell to be answered, the Countess made use of them, hastily scribbling some words on a sheet of paper, which she folded without putting into an envelope; instead, twisted it between her finger, as if dissatisfied with what she had written, and designed cancelling it. Far from this her intention, as was soon made manifest.

"_Muchacha_!" she said to Pepita, who, being lady's maid, had answered the bell herself. "Your mistress tells me you can be trusted on a matter which calls not only for confidence, but cleverness. Is that so?"

"I can't promise the cleverness, your ladyship; but for the other, I think the Dona Luisa knows she can rely on me."

"You'd be good at delivering a letter, without letting all the world into the secret, I suppose?"

"I'll do my best, your ladyship, if Duena command it."

"Yes, I wish it, Pepita," interposed Dona Luisa, herself the "Duena."

"_Muy bien Senorita_. Into whose hands is it to be put?"

Though speaking direct to her own mistress, the interrogatory was more meant for the Condesa, between whose fingers and thumb she saw the thing she was to take charge of.

The answer to her query called for some consideration. The note was for Ruperto Rivas; but the girl knew him not; so how could she give it him?

Here was a difficulty not before thought of, for a time perplexing both the ladies. In this case Dona Luisa was the first to see a way out of it, saying in a whisper:--

"Let her give it to Florencio; she knows him, and he can--"

"_Carramba_!" exclaimed the Countess interrupting. "How wonderfully wise you are, _amiga_! The very thing! And it never occurred to me!

No, _you_ tell her what to do."

"This, Pepita," said her mistress, taking the crumpled sheet from the Condesa, and pa.s.sing it to her maid, "this is to be delivered to a gentleman you've seen, and should know."

"Where have I seen him, senorita?"

"In New Orleans."

"Do you mean Don Carlos, my lady?"

"No;" the abrupt negative accompanied with a dissatisfied look.

"Who then, senorita?"

"Don Florencio."

"_Ay Dios_! Is he here? I did not know it. But where am I to find him?"

No need to repeat the dialogue as continued. Suffice it that, before leaving the room, Pepita received full instructions where to find Don Florencio, and when found what she was to do and say to him.

So far all this was easy enough. More difficult the commission to be entrusted to Jose--more dangerous too. But it was made known to him in less than twenty minutes after; receiving his ready a.s.sent to its execution--though it should cost him his life, as he said. One motive for his agreeing to undergo the danger was devotion to his young mistress; another to stand well with Pepita, who had a power over him, and as he knew had entered upon her part with an ardent alacrity. But there was a third stimulus to keep up his courage, should it feel like failing--this having to do with the Condesa. Drawing out her grand gold watch--good value for a hundred _dollores_, and holding it up before his eyes, she said:

"That's your reward, Jose; that or its worth in money."

No need saying more. For the commission he was to execute much preparation was to be made, in all haste too. And in all haste he set to making it--determined to win the watch.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE PLAY OF EYES.

The ceremony of laying the foundation-stone had been brief and it was yet only an early hour of the afternoon when the procession pa.s.sed back along the Calle de Plateros. The scavengers were still at work, and it is scarcely necessary to say that two of their number were earnestly on the lookout for a certain carriage. Sorry plight as they were in, neither felt ashamed or reluctant to come again under those eyes, after the expression they had observed in them. Rivas had hopes that in another exchange of glances with the Condesa, he might see something still further to instruct him; while Kearney, not so confident about his interpretation of those given to himself, longed to have a second reading of them.

Nor was he disappointed. The procession returned sooner than they expected, the looked-for carriage still holding its place in the line; the ladies in it, but now no officer of Hussars, nor any other, riding alongside. Santander, an aide-de-camp as known, had likely been ordered off on some official errand, and likely, too, his chief did not relish seeing him so near that particular equipage. Whatever the cause, his absence gave gratification to the two men noting it. With less constraint glances might now be exchanged--even gestures.

And both were. The look Kearney had given to him was accompanied by a nod of recognition; slight and timid, for it could not well be otherwise under the circ.u.mstances. But the eyes spoke more eloquently, telling him of respect undiminished, faith that had never faltered, love strong and true as ever. If he read pity in them too, it was not such as he would now spurn.

To Rivas were accorded signs of a very different sort. He had them not only from eyes, but the movement of a fan and fingers. They seemed satisfactory to him; for as the carriage pa.s.sed out of sight, he turned to the other and said in a cheerful whisper:

"Keep up heart, _camarado_! I perceive you're not unknown to a friend of my friend. You heard the brute of a gaol-governor taunt me about a certain Condesa?"

"I did."

"Well; that's the lady, alongside her who's just been making eyes at you. An old acquaintance of yours, I see; and I think I could say where it was commenced. Never mind about that now. Enough for you to know that if friendship can get us out of this fix, with gold to back it, we may yet have a chance of giving leg-bail to the turnkeys of the Acordada."

Their dialogue was terminated by Dominguez, who, temporarily absent for a swill at one of the neighbouring _pulquerias_, now returned to the superintendence of his charge, and roughly commanded them to resume their work.

For nearly another hour the work went on, though not so regularly as before. The stream of returning sightseers still lined the foot-walks, many of them showing by their behaviour they had been paying a visit to _pulquerias_ too, and more than once. Some stopped to fraternise with the soldiers, and would have done likewise with the _forzados_, if permitted. They were not hindered, however, from holding converse with the former, and extending hospitality to them in the shape of treats; sentry after sentry stealing away from his post after the proffered and coveted toothful. Nor was Dominguez an exception, he too every now and then repeating his visit to the dram-shop.

All this gave the scavengers licence of speech, with some liberty of action, or rather rest from their disagreeable task. And in the interval, while they were thus idling, the young Irishman noticed that the eyes of his chain companion were kept continuously on the foot-walks, now on one side now the other, his face towards the Plaza Grande--as though he expected to see some one coming that way. Kearney himself was regarding the people who came along--but only from curiosity--when his attention was more particularly drawn to one who had come to a stop on the sidewalk nearly opposite. This was a girl of rather diminutive stature, dressed in the ordinary fashion of the common people, short-skirted petticoat, sleeveless _camisa_, arms, ankles, and feet bare; but the head, breast, and shoulders all under one covering-- the _reboso_. Even her face was hidden by this, for she was wearing it "tapado," one eye only visible, through a little loop in the folded scarf, which was kept open by the hand that held it. The girl had drawn up in front of a jeweller's window, as though to feast that eye on the pretty things therein displayed. And thus Kearney would not have noticed her, any more than the others, many of them in like garb pa.s.sing to and fro. But, just as his eye happened to light upon her, he saw that hers--literally a single one--was fixed upon him, regarding him in a way altogether different from that which might be expected on the part of a chance stranger. Her att.i.tude, too, was odd. Though facing nearly square to the shop window, and pretending to look into it, her head was slightly turned, and the eye surely on him.

At first he was puzzled to make out what it could mean, and why the girl should be taking such an interest in him. Possibly, had she been wearing shoes and stockings, he might have come easier to the comprehension of it. But a little brown-skinned, barefooted _muchacha_, in a petticoat of common stuff, and cheap scarf over her shoulders, he could think of no reason why she should have aught to do with him.

Only for a few seconds, however, was he thus in the dark. Then all became clear, the _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_ giving him a start, and sending the blood in quick rush through his veins--pleasant withal. For the girl, seeing she had caught his attention, relaxed her clasp upon the scarf, partially exposing her face, and the other eye.

Kearney needed not seeing the whole of it for recognition now. Well remembered he those features--pretty in spite of the dark skin--he had often seen wreathed with pleasant smiles, as their owner used to open the door for him in the Casa de Calvo.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A LETTER DEXTEROUSLY DELIVERED.

Pepita it was, though in a different style of dress to what he had been accustomed to see her in; as at New Orleans she had not kept to her national costume. Besides, there was a _soupcon_ of shabbiness about her present attire, and then the shoeless feet!

"Dismissed the Valverde service--out of a situation--poor girl!"

He would not have so pityingly reflected, had he seen her as she was but a short half-hour before, in a pretty muslin dress, snow-white stockings, and blue satin slippers. Since then she had made a change in her toilet under direction and by help of the Condesa, who had attired her in a way more befitting the task intended.

Kearney, in full belief of her being a discharged servant, remembering her many little kindnesses to himself in the Casa de Calvo, was about to call her up, and speak a word of sympathy for old time's sake.

Dominguez was still absent, and the nearest sentry engaged in a chaffing encounter with some one in the crowd.

Just then he observed a slight tremor of her head, and with a sudden movement of the hand which seemed to say, "No, don't speak to me." She, too, could talk that mute language, so well understood in her country.