University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
THE PARAMOUR AND THE VICTIM.

Different, indeed, were the reflections of the Count
of Osma from those of Don Henrique. His sensations
on the departure of his victim were those of gratification
and sated cruelty. He contemplated the misery he
had caused with exquisite sensations of pleasure.

“I would save him if I now dared,” he at length said,
after thinking over all that had just transpired; “but I
have gone too far. My safety is secured only in his
death. Yet I would save him in that I like not to answer
for the blood that flows in veins like his. But he
hath ever been an eyesore to me; I could never meet
his clear, quiet eye that it did not seem to be reading
my soul. This Rascas will do the deed, and the wound
may be shown as that received in the affray. He must
die, for his injuries may not be expiated save by laying
my own head upon the block. It were a pity he should
die for such slight offences; but I have gone too far to
hope he will pardon and forget should I permit him to
live. Were he other than he is, he should live; but
now his life must save mine. Ha, my child! I have
seen but little of you since yesternight. Wherefore do
you visit me now?”

His manner was impatient, and his voice angry as
he spoke, for the time of Azèlie's waking was at hand,
and he was about to enter her apartment when Estelle
appeared. She was pale and serious, and filial love
struggled in her countenance with reproof and fear.

She approached, and, kneeling silently at his feet, kissed
his hand. He felt a tear fall upon it as she did so,
and, raising her to his breast, tenderly embraced her,
while, with a smile of affectionate fondness, he said,

“What has disturbed thee, Lil?”

“A dream, as I fell asleep over my missal; and, waking
with terror, I came to see that you lived.”

“Prithee what was thy affrighting dream?” he asked,
playfully, though not without a slight feeling of superstition;
“when I was in Morocco I learned the art
of interpreting dreams. Tell it me.”

“Nay, now that you are here by me and in safety,
'tis nothing. Yet it deeply impresses me.”

“The dream—out with it!” he exclaimed, ill concealing
the feverish interest he took in learning it.

“It was—forgive me, sir—but I dreamed,” she said,
with a shudder, hiding her face, “that I saw thee beheaded
on the king's scaffold, and that the young king
and his whole court were present to witness thy ignominious
death! Thy head rolled from the platform to
my feet, and I awoke with horror! Nay, look not so
fearful, sir; 'twas but a dream! I have let it weigh
upon my spirits foolishly. It has given thee pain, my
father.”

“A young king, said you?” he said, placing his eyes
upon her with searching and anxious inquiry.

“A young king; but not the Infante Don Carlos.
I thought his face resembled—”

“Whose? Speak quickly.”

“The young cavalier, Don Henrique.”

“Ha, ha, ha! Then is the dream false!” he cried,
with a wild, hollow-sounding laugh, while his countenance
lighted up with malign satisfaction. “Go to,
child; if such be thy dreams, dream on. Thou wilt
scarce do harm by them. Wilt thou to thy chamber
now? I have business, and would be alone. There is
a kiss for thy dream. I pray thee bring me a pleasanter
one to-morrow. Why do you linger, child? There
is a question on thy tongue.”

Estelle hesitated; but, seeing her father's impatience,

with blushing embarrassment said, “Have they
taken the president of the council, sir?” But her manner
showed that more was hidden beneath her question
than she would have known.

“He hath escaped, and this rebel Renault as yet.
A price is upon their heads, and they will soon be captured.”

“I thank thee, Heaven,” she said, impulsively, as if
relieved of doubt and fear.

“This shows thy loyalty, girl,” he said, approvingly,
referring her ejaculation to the last clause of his
speech. “This courreur chef is a lion in my path.
Nothing but the loss of his head will restore peace to
the province. He is already plotting and conspiring
against the state. He hath the talent, genius, and
military skill in him of another Frederic of Prussia.
Go to thy chamber,” he added, quickly, his ready ear
detecting a slight noise within the boudoir. At the
same instant a nightingale from the palace gardens
broke forth into a strain of ravishing song.

Estelle listened an instant to the melody, and then,
unsuspicious, obeyed him.

With her heart dwelling upon Renault, whose unintentional
praises from her father's lips filled her with
pride and pleasure, and whose image she had fondly
cherished with all the devotion of first love, she sought
her chamber, from which her startling dream had
driven her to seek her father. To learn the fate of
Renault, for which she trembled on hearing the condemnation
and execution of the councillors (“by the
cabildo,” as it was told her), was also a motive, and a
very strong one, that had induced her to leave her
room and go to his cabinet.

At the moment the nightingale broke the silence of
night by his shrilling notes, Azèlie opened her eyes,
wholly free from sleep or drowsiness, and with all her
faculties at command. Her first sensation was that
of delicious refreshment. She lightly bounded to her
feet as if she had awakened in her own chamber, and,
catching a note of the bird's song as she rose, warbled

along with him, scarcely less sweetly than himself, for
a moment as happy-hearted and cheerful as if oblivion
of past sorrow had been mingled with the Moor's
sleeping-draught. All at once the consciousness that
she was not in her own room struck her. There
seemed to be the same rich drapery and costly furniture—the
same ottomans and tables—for Osma had
taken her chamber as a pattern for this, the better to
content her with her imprisonment; but the apartment
was larger than her own, and the little altar, with its
silver lamp upon it, was not there. The clock of the
Cathedral at the same instant tolled eight, so loud and
near, that the dreadful suspicion which began to enter
her mind, that she was in the tyrant Osma's palace, to
which the Cathedral adjoined, nearly overpowered her.
With a low, sharp cry of apprehension, she flew to the
only window, and a single glance out upon the Place
d'Armes before it confirmed her worst fears. Her situation
and peril were instantly comprehended in their
full extent.

“Now Heaven in mercy aid me!” she cried, clasping
her hands and lifting up her eyes in tears to the
Protector of the innocent, as, after a single trial, she
found that the barricaded window mocked her feeble
strength.

With the peril, her spirit and courage seemed to rise
to meet it. She felt within her vesture for the stiletto
she had carried there since she had become the victim
of lawless persecution, and, with an exclamation of joy,
laid her hand upon it. “Now hath Heaven answered
my prayer!” she said, as she loosened it in her girdle,
so that it would come freely at the touch.

Her eye, searching for an avenue of escape, now fell
upon the curtain that was drawn across the entrance
communicating with the governor's cabinet. She flew
across the apartment, and was drawing it aside, when
she heard a footstep close without. She started back
with terror, and the next instant the Count of Osma
was in her presence. Startled, but not surprised, to
see her in this attitude, he would have approached her

with a smile, and soothing language upon his tongue.
But she no sooner beheld him advancing than she retreated
to the casement, saying, in a firm and collected
tone,

“Stand there, my lord! Approach me a step nearer,
and thou wilt embrace a corpse for thy mistress.”

He gazed upon her spirited attitude, her dilated eye,
and resolute mouth, as she stood before him with
heightened beauty, and hesitated.

“Nay, gentle Azèlie, this loveliness was not bestowed
upon thee for this! This haughty and indignant
bearing truly becometh thee; but a lover liketh best
to see his mistress tender and submissive. Prithee!
now thou hast displayed thy spirit, drop that lofty look,
and let me lay my deep and devoted passion at thy
feet!”

“My Lord of Osma, this language ill becometh the
lips of a parent, and the father of a daughter who hath
the years of womanhood!”

“Words from lips so sweet can ne'er be bitter,
lovely quadroone. The more thou speakest against
me, the more thy prettily-moving lips and flashing eyes
will fire my passion. Thine own weapons thy beauty
will arm against thee.”

“Hoary mocker! Thy speech ill suits gray locks
and dignity like thine. Remember thou art a knight
and a noble of Spain—governor of this province—a
chief of an army! while I am a maiden of an outcast
race—the child of bondage and infamy. I pray thee,
by thy honour, tarnish not thy name, rank, and station,
by the thought that is in thy bosom!”

He listened to her eloquent appeal to his feelings,
but, save that her inspired beauty increased his desire
to become its possessor, it had no effect upon him.
She saw the nature of the impression she had made,
and, as he advanced a step towards her, once more
commanded him back in a tone that he instinctively
obeyed.

“Will nothing turn thee from thy purpose but the
destruction of the victim of thy guilty passion? How

will it sound in the halls of thy master's palace, that
Count Garcia of Osma hath sold his honour for the
love of a quadroone maid? hath dishonoured his gray
hairs, and brought infamy upon his child? How will
the proud Count of Osma love to hear his name
coupled in a ballad with that of a slave, and sung at
the street corners? Shame on thee, knight! Dismiss
this passion, which can only end in thy disgrace and
the tragic death of its object!”

“Maiden, thy scornful speech hath not the power
over me that thy beauty hath. Did it fall from lips
less sweet, I might listen to it. A curse from thy
mouth were turned into a blessing, through the richness
of the voice that conveyed it,” he said, with a free
gallantry and warmth of admiration that terrified her;
while he made a step towards her as if he would terminate
a scene, of the continuance of which he had
already become impatient.

“Nay, my lord,” she cried, in a voice so solemn and
imploring in its eloquence, and in tones so full of pathos
and entreaty, that he paused and listened without
power to move; “nay, nay, my Lord of Osma, if
there is no appeal to thy pride! none to thy honour—
none to thy shame, let me plead to thy heart! Heaven
surely hath given thee human emotions: a heart to
feel—a bosom to be touched with sorrow! I implore
thee by thy humanity—by thy hopes of a blessed immortality—by
thy fear of judgment and dread of final
retribution, to depart from me, and let me go free and
innocent! By thy daughter's love to thee—by her
beauty—by her virgin innocence, spare me! Drive
me not to self-murder; for never shalt thou lay thy
touch upon me living!”

As she spoke she drew her dagger from her bosom.

“Dost thou mean to do this, indeed, maiden?” he
demanded, with surprise and alarm, for the first time
really believing that she would lay hands upon herself,
and fearing that thus she might escape him.

“The grave were preferable to thy licentious love,
and death shall stand between me and dishonour!”

“Dishonour! A quadroone speak of dishonour!
Thy beauty hath maddened thee, girl. What love so
high as that I proffer thee wilt thou find? Not a maiden
of thy race that would not esteem it her highest
honour to be elevated to the station thou scornest.
Thou hast played thy part well, and I give thee credit
for it; now thou must end it. This boudoir is to be
thy prison till thou art tamed; so thou wouldst best
suffer thyself to be caught, pretty bird; for escape,
there is none for thee.” He advanced towards her as
he spoke.

“Iron bars and locks cannot hold the released spirit,
tyrant!” she cried, elevating her dagger, and deliberately
aiming it at her breast.

Anticipating her intention from the enthusiasm of
her voice, and the uplifted, prayerful eye, he sprang
forward, and caught in his sleeve, in its descent, the
glittering steel. With the other hand he was about to
grasp her by the arm, when, uttering a cry of despair,
she bounded away from him, and, reaching the curtain,
fled through the door into the cabinet. Glancing
around her with the rapid, searching gaze of a hunted
doe, she discovered the only door that led from it. It
was shut, but instantly yielded to her hand, and she
darted through it, as Osma, burning with his discomfiture,
entered the cabinet in pursuit, with the naked
stiletto held menacingly in his grasp. Without looking
behind, she fled through the anteroom, and, not observing
that it contained a tall, shrouded figure, reached
the marble passage.

Here, for an instant, she hesitated which way to fly;
but her pursuer's voice, calling upon her to arrest her
flight, gave her wings, and she took the way to the left,
in the direction of a faint light shining into the passage
from one of the state apartments that opened upon it.
This light held out to her hopes of escape through the
presence of others, and, running forward with breathless
speed, she reached the half-open door as the Count
of Osma appeared behind her in the passage. Without
a moment's hesitation, she sought refuge through

this door, and found herself in a small antechamber,
where two or three female slaves were sleeping upon
mats. A door was on the opposite side ajar, which
she flung open and bounded through. Before she was
aware, she found herself in a softly-lighted chamber,
where, by an open lattice, sat a youthful maiden with
a lute in her hand, discoursing most sweet and plaintive
music, while the cool wind just stirred her golden
hair. Azèlie half arrested her flight at her presence,
uttered a cry of wild joy, and cast herself imploringly
at her feet.

“Save me, save me!”

Estelle started with surprise and wonder at the beautiful
vision that had so suddenly appeared before her;
but, ere her astonishment would permit her to inquire
her danger, and ensure her the protection she sought,
her father entered the chamber in pursuit. His presence
and bearing, as well as her knowledge of his
character, explained to her all that she would have
asked. She instantly threw her arms about the lovely
fugitive, and, warmly embracing her, said, in a low
voice,

“Fear not! the presence of the daughter shall
shield thee!”

Then, starting to her feet, she cried, while her whole
person seemed instinct with the insult and dishonour
she felt she had received at her father's hands, “Stand
there, sir! This is holy ground! Innocence hath
sought this altar, and the foot of the spoiler shall not
desecrate it. Leave me, sir!”

Her eyes seemed bursting with the tears her indignation
would not let her shed, while shame and bitter
grief swelled her heart to breaking. She stood before
him like an angel reproving a demon. Her guilty
parent bent his head at her reproof, though his wrath
kindled fiercely against her; while Azèlie, glancing
with a fearful eye from father to daughter, still knelt,
clinging to the robes of the maiden, and looking as
if her soul hung upon the words of her lips. After
surveying them both with feelings of mingled shame

and disappointment, he cried, in an authoritative tone
of voice,

“To thy bed, girl! This is no matter for thy interference.”

“When a father's honour is endangered, and the
blush is brought into the daughter's cheek, love and
duty command her intervention. Sir, thou hast forgotten
thyself! This trembling child shall find a protector
in me, and Heaven will forgive this rebellion
against thy will. Go, sir, and forget thy intended
wrong. By my filial love, sir, it shall never, by word
or look, be brought again to thy remembrance. This
gentle fugitive will also forgive thee; and, save in the
condemning censure of thy own breast, the past will
be as if it had never transpired.”

The passions of the Count of Osma were too deeply
seated to be moved by this filial appeal; and, much
as he loved his child, and now admired her forbearance
on such an occasion, he could not forgive her the
disappointment nor this unpleasant exposure. He
therefore, with reckless hardihood of manner, that
showed he was not to be turned aside by any moral
means from his purpose, answered,

“Since my accursed fortune has brought this thing
before thee, girl, I shall not mince matters either with
thyself or her. I am thy father, and my actions are
not to be submitted to thy scrutiny. I alone am accountable
for them. As you suspect, this young woman
is the object of my passion.”

“A passion that a daughter should never hear
named by a father's lips,” said Estelle, indignantly.

“Would you have me degrade honourable love,
wench, by placing it upon a quadroone? Wouldst
thou have a slave for thy stepdame?”

“A quadroone!” repeated the maiden, looking with
surprise upon the dark, intelligent beauty of the young
girl at her feet; “a quadroone, my father!”

“A daughter of the race of Ham. I will wed her
if thou wilt,” he said, ironically.

“If she then be of that race of which rumour hath

talked so much, then is thy crime the greater! Oh,
my father, how art thou fallen! How hath the glory
of the house of Osma become dim!”

“A greater crime, girl, dost thou call it? In her
case there can be none. Is the Sultan of Orient
guilty of crime for filling his harem with the houris
of Circassia? This is the destiny of the females of
that land, and such is their only wedlock. And is
there dishonour to them in it? Ask the Circassian
maid if she feels herself wronged in being taken from
her mother's roof to become the favourite of the sultan?
Will she answer yes? So it is with the race
of quadroones. Their destiny is the same with the
maiden's of the East, and they would laugh at thee,
child, if thou shouldst ask them if they were degraded
by the fulfilment of a fate which they have ever been
taught to be the summit of happiness.”

“If such be this trembling maiden's feelings, why
is she now a suppliant at my feet, sir?”

“She hath a passion for another, and hath taken
some high notions that her surpassing beauty is worthy
the recompense of marriage.”

“And thou, sir, thou wouldst break her heart by
tearing her from its hope, and destroy the virtue that
hath elevated her above her race. Shame and dishonour
upon thee, my father! Oh, that I had been
spared this degradation. I could sink into the earth
with the burning shame that weighs upon my heart.
I know not, indeed I know not, whether to hate thee,
scorn thee, curse thee, or throw myself at thy feet,
and with streaming tears implore thee to come to thy
right mind, and forget as I will forgive.”

“My purpose hath gone too far: concealment is
now vain: the first emotion of shame hath passed by,
and I will not now be defeated in my object.”

He made a step towards his victim as he spoke, as
if he was about to seize upon and bear her off.

“Thy daughter first!” she cried, placing her person
between that of Azèlie and his approach.

“Wilt thou proteot my slave? She is my slave!”

“ 'Tis false,” cried Azèlie.

“Thy mother hath surrendered to me her papers of
manumission.”

“Then death must free me.”

“Fear not,” said Estelle, resolutely.

“Nay, Estelle, wilt thou beard thy father!”

“Father! Darest thou remember that thou art a
father?” she cried, with the accent of keen reproof.

“Thou shalt remember it to thy wo in a cell, a
score of fathoms under ground, if thou thwart me,
girl,” he cried, with the desperate recklessness of a
man bent on doing the evil that he contemplates, having
now thrown aside all shame and remorse, all paternal
delicacy and self-respect.

He laid one hand rudely upon her as he spoke, and
with the other was dragging Azèlie away from her,
when he felt a hand upon his throat like a grasp of
iron. His hold upon the maiden convulsively relaxed,
and he sunk upon one knee, his eyes forced from their
sockets, and his whole frame nearly powerless. At
the same instant Renault flew past him, and Azèlie,
with a cry of joy, was clasped to his heart. The hold
upon the count's throat was now released; the sorceress
stood before him, and fixed upon his face eyes of
deadly malignity and triumph! He stared upon her
with terror, and, recovering with an effort the use of
his speech, said, with tones in which superstitious
fear had taken place of every other feeling,

“Fearful being! Dost thou appear again to torment
me? This is not the day thou didst appoint to
meet me. What evil cometh of thy presence now?”

“Wo to thee and joy to others, man of iniquity and
blood! is ever where I come,” she said, in a solemn
voice; “I did hope that thou wouldst have let me remain
out of thy sight until the day I promised thou
shouldst see me again. But thy sins come fast and
sudden, and it becomes me to watch lest thou do more
than I would have thee, Beware! This is the second
time of my coming. The third shall be the day
of thy doom.”