"_Ave Maria purisima_!" cried a voice from without.
"_Sin pecado concebida_!" replied at the same time the two acolytes within.
And upon this formula, Gregorio hastened to the door, and opened it.
"What on earth can have brought you here at this hour, Don Juan de Dios Canelo?" inquired the alcalde in a tone of surprise, as the old steward of the Countess de Mediana appeared in the doorway, his bald forehead clouded with some profound chagrin.
"Ah, senor alcalde," replied the old man, "a terrible misfortune has happened last night--a great crime has been committed--the Countess has disappeared, and the young Count along with her!"
"Are you sure of this?" shouted the alcalde.
"Alas--you will only have to go up into the balcony that overlooks the sea, and there you will see in what state the a.s.sa.s.sins have left the Countess"s chamber."
"Justice! justice! Senor alcalde! Send out your alguazils over the whole country; find the villains--hang them!"
This voice came from a woman still outside in the street. It was the _femme de chambre_ of the Countess, who, to show a devotion which she very little felt, judged it apropos to make a great outcry as she precipitated herself into the chamber of audience.
"Ta-ta-ta, woman! how you go on!" interrupted the alcalde. "Do you think I have a crowd of alguazils? You know very well that in this virtuous village there are only two; and as these would starve if they didn"t follow some trade beside their official one, they are both gone fishing hours ago."
"Ah, me!" cried the _femme de chambre_, with a hypocritical whine, "my poor mistress!--who then is to help her?"
"Patience, woman, patience!" said the alcalde. "Don"t fear but that justice will be done."
The chamber-maid did not appear to draw much hope from the a.s.surance, but only redoubled her cries, her excited behaviour strongly contrasting with the quiet manner in which the faithful old steward exhibited the sincerity of his grief.
Meanwhile a crowd of women, old men, and children, had gathered around the alcalde"s door, and by little and little, were invading the sanctuary of the audience chamber itself.
Don Ramon advanced towards Cagatinta, who was rubbing his hands under his _esclavina_, charmed at the idea of the quant.i.ty of stamped paper he would now have an opportunity to blacken.
"Now, friend Gregorio," said the alcalde, in a low voice, "the time has come, when, if you are sharp, you may gain the liver-coloured breeches."
He said no more; but it was evident that the _escribano_ understood him, at least, to a certain extent. The latter turned pale with joy, and kept his eye fixed upon every movement of his patron, determined to seize the first opportunity that presented itself of winning the breeches.
The alcalde reseated himself in his great leathern chair; and commanding silence with a wave of his hand, addressed his auditory in a long and pompous speech, with that profuse grandiloquence of which the Spanish language is so capable.
The substance of his speech was as follows:
"My children! We have just heard from this respectable individual, Don Juan de Dios Canelo, that a great crime has last night been committed; the full knowledge of this villainy cannot fail to arrive at the ears of justice, from which nothing can be kept hid. Not the less are we to thank Don Juan for his official communication; it only remains for him to complete the accusation by giving the names of the guilty persons."
"But, senor alcalde," interrupted the steward, "I do not know them, although, as you say, my communication may be official--I can only say that I will do all in my power to a.s.sist in finding them."
"You understand, my children," continued the alcalde, without taking notice of what the steward had said, "the worthy Canelo by his official communication asks for the punishment of the guilty persons. Justice will not be deaf to his appeal. I may now be permitted, however, to speak to you of my own little affairs, before abandoning myself to the great grief which the disappearance of the Countess and the young Count has caused me."
Here the alcalde made a sign to Cagatinta, whose whole faculties were keenly bent to discover what service was expected from him, by which he was to gain the object of his ambition--the liver-coloured breeches.
The alcalde continued:--
"You all know, my children, of my attachment to the family of Mediana.
You can judge, then, of the grief which this news has given me--news the more incomprehensible, since one neither knows by whom, or for what reason such a crime should be committed. Alas, my children! I lose a powerful protector in the Countess de Mediana; and in me the heart of the old and faithful servant is pierced with anguish, while as a man of business I am equally a sufferer. Yes, my children! In the deceitful security, which I felt no later than yesterday, I was up to the chateau, and had an important interview with the Countess in regard to my rents."
"To ask time for their payment," Cagatinta would have added, for the clerk was perfectly acquainted with the alcalde"s affairs. But Don Ramon did not allow him an opportunity of committing this enormous indiscretion, which would forever have deprived him of the promised breeches.
"Patience, worthy Cagatinta!" he exclaimed hastily, so as to prevent the other from speaking, "constrain this thirst for justice that consumes you!--Yes, my children!" he continued, turning to his auditory, "in consequence of this feeling of security, which I have now cause to regret, I placed in the hands of the unfortunate Countess,"--here the voice of Don Ramon quivered--"a sum equivalent to ten years of my rents _in advance_."
At this unexpected declaration, Cagatinta bounded from his chair as if stung by a wasp; and the blood ran cold in his veins when he perceived the grand blunder he had been so near committing.
"You will understand, then, my children, the terrible situation in which this disappearance of the Countess has placed me, when I tell you that I _took no receipt from the lady_, but this very morning was to have gone up for it."
This revelation produced a profound sensation among the auditory; and though perhaps not one of them really believed the story, no one dared to give utterance to his incredulity.
"Fortunately," continued the alcalde, "the word of persons worthy of credit may yet repair the mistake I have committed--fortunately there were witnesses of the payment."
Here Cagatinta--who like water that had been a long time dammed up and had now found vent--stretched out both his arms, and in a loud voice cried out:
"I can swear to it!"
"He can swear to it," said the alcalde.
"He can swear to it," mechanically repeated one or two of the bystanders.
"Yes, my friends!" solemnly added Cagatinta. "I swear to it now, and should have mentioned the matter sooner, but I was prevented by a little uncertainty. I had an idea that it was _fifteen_ years of rent, instead of _ten_, that I saw the alcalde hand over to the unfortunate Dona Luisa."
"No, my worthy friend," interrupted the alcalde in a tone of moderation, likely to produce an effect upon his auditory. "It was only ten years of rent, which your valuable testimony will hinder me from losing."
"Yes, senor alcalde," replied the wily scribe, determined at all hazards to deserve the liver-coloured breeches, "I know it was ten years in advance, but there were also the two years of back rent which you paid-- two years of arrears and ten in advance--twelve years in all. _Por Dios_! a large sum it would be to have lost!"
And with this reflection Cagatinta sat down again, fancying, no doubt, that he had fairly won the breeches.
We shall not detail what further pa.s.sed during the scene in the alcalde"s chamber of audience--where justice was practised as in the times of Gil Blas--long before and long after Gil Blas--for it is not very different in a Spanish law court at the hour in which we are writing.
Enough to say that the scene concluded, most of the dramatis personae, with the alcalde at their head, proceeded to the chateau, to inspect the chamber, and if possible find out some clue to the mysterious disappearance of the Countess.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER.
On arriving at the chateau, the alcalde ordered the door of the Countess"s chamber to be burst in--for it was still bolted inside. On entering the apartment a picture of confusion was presented. Drawers empty, others drawn out, but only half sacked of their contents.
All this did not indicate precisely that there had been any violence. A voluntary but hurried departure on the part of the Countess might have left just such traces as were discovered. The bed was still undisturbed, as if she had not lain down upon it. This fact appeared to indicate a foreknowledge, on the part of the lady, of what was to happen--as if she had had the intention of going off, but had made no preparation until the moment of departure. The furniture was all in its place--the window curtains and those of the alcove had not been disarranged, and no traces of a struggle were to be discerned within the chamber, which contained many light fragile objects of furniture that could not fail to have been destroyed by the slightest violence.
The fetid odour of an oil lamp filled the apartment despite the cold air that came in through the open window. It was evident, therefore, that this lamp had been left alight, and had continued to burn until the oil had become exhausted.
It could not be a robbery either. A thousand articles of value, likely enough to have tempted the cupidity of robbers, were left behind both on the tables and in the drawers.
The conclusion then was that neither a.s.sa.s.sination nor burglary had taken place.
Notwithstanding all these deceptive appearances, the old steward shook his head doubtfully. The signs were sufficient to baffle his reason, which was none of the strongest, but the faithful servant could not bring himself to believe that his n.o.ble mistress would take flight in a manner so extraordinary--his good sense revolted at the thought. In his belief some crime had been committed, but how was it to be explained-- since the a.s.sa.s.sin had left no traces of his guilt? The devoted Don Juan looked with a sad eye upon that desolate chamber--upon the dresses of his beloved mistress scattered over the floor; upon the cradle of the young Count, where he had so lately slept, rosy and smiling, under the vigil of his mother.