"I do not yet see, Sir, what relation there is between this history – very interesting, certainly – that you are relating, and these two unfortunate ladies," interrupted the abbess, shaking her head.
"A few minutes more complaisance, Madame; you will not be long in being satisfied."
"Be it so, Sir; continue then, I beg."
Don Zeno resumed:
"Some years passed; my grandfather was at the head of the vast chacra occupied by our family, my father was beginning to aid him in his labours. He had a sister beautiful as the angels, and pure as they. She was named Laura; her father and brother loved her to adoration; she was their joy, their pride, their happiness – "
Don Zeno stopped; tears that he did not try to restrain slowly flowed down his cheeks.
"This souvenir affects you, Señor," said the abbess, gently.
The young man proudly nerved himself.
"I have promised to tell you the truth, Madame, and although the task that I impose on myself is painful, I will not give way. My grandfather had deposited in a place, known to him and his daughter only, the manuscript and the map that had been left them by my great-grandfather on his deathbed, and then neither of them had cared much more about the matter, not supposing that a time would arrive when it would be possible to take possession of this fortune, which, nevertheless, belonged to them by incontestable title. One day, a foreigner presented himself at the chacra, and asked hospitality, which was never refused to anyone. The stranger was young, handsome, and rich – at least, he appeared so – and for our family he had the great advantage of being our fellow countryman; he belonged to one of the most noble families of Portugal. He was then more than a friend – almost a relation. My grandfather received him with open arms; he lived several months in our chacra; he might have lived there altogether had he wished it; everyone in the house liked him. Pardon me, Madame, for passing rapidly over these details. Although too young to have personally assisted in that infamous treason, my heart is broken. One day the stranger disappeared, carrying away Doña Laura. That is how that man repaid our hospitality."
"Oh! that is horrible!" cried the abbess, carried away by the indignation she felt.
"Every search was fruitless; it was impossible to discover his traces. But what was more serious in this affair, Madame, was, that this man had coldly and basely followed out a plan previously laid."
"It is not possible!" said the abbess, with horror.
"This man had – I do not know how – discovered something in Europe about the secret that my great-grandfather had so well guarded. The stranger's design, in introducing himself into our house, was to discover the complete secret, in order to rob us of our fortune. During the time that he lived at the chacra, he several times tried, by artful questions, to learn the details of which he was ignorant – questions addressed sometimes to my grandfather, sometimes to my father, then a young man. The odious violence that he committed did not proceed from love, pushed almost to distraction, as you might suppose; he might have demanded of my grandfather the hand of his daughter, which the latter would have given him; no, he did not love Doña Laura.
"Then," interrupted the abbess, "why did he carry her off?"
"Why, you say?"
"Yes."
"Because he believed that she possessed the secret that he wished to discover; that, Madame, was the only motive for the crime."
"What you tell me is infamous, Señor," cried the abbess; "this man was a demon."
"No, Madame, he was a wretch devoured by the thirst for riches, and who, at any price, determined to possess them, even if to do so he had to bring dishonour and shame into a family, or to walk over a heap of corpses."
"Oh!" she gasped, hiding her head in her hands.
"Now, Madame, do you wish to know the name of this man?" he pursued, with bitterness; "But it is needless, is it not? For you have already guessed, no doubt."
The abbess nodded her head affirmatively, without answering.
There was rather a long silence.
"But why render the innocent," at last said the abbess, "responsible for the crimes committed by others?"
"Because, Madame – an inheritor of the paternal hatred for twenty years – it is only a fortnight ago that I have again found a trace that I thought was lost forever; that the name of our enemy has, like a thunderclap, suddenly burst on my ear, and that I have demanded of this man a reckoning in blood for the honour of my family."
"So to satisfy a vengeance which might be just, were it brought to bear on the guilty, you would be cruel enough – "
"I do not yet know what I shall do, Madame. My head is on fire; fury carries me away," interrupted he, with violence. "This man has stolen our happiness; I wish to take away his; but I shall not be a coward, as he has been; he shall know from whence comes the blow which strikes him; it is between us a war of wild beasts."
At this moment the door of the adjoining room opened suddenly, and the marchioness appeared calm and imposing.
"A war of wild beasts let it be, caballero; I accept it."
The young man rose abruptly, and darting a look of crushing scorn at the superior:
"Ah! I have been listened to," said he, with irony; "well, so much the better, I prefer it to be so. This unworthy treachery precludes any further explanation; you know, Madame, the cause of the hatred that I bear towards your husband; I have nothing more to tell you."
"My husband is a noble caballero, who, if he were present, would wither, by his denial – as I do myself – the odious tissue of lies by which you have not scrupled to accuse him before a person," added she, directing a look of sorrowful pity to the superior, "who would not, perhaps, have believed this frightful tale, the falsity of which is too easy to prove for it to be necessary to refute it."
"Be it so, Madame; this insult, coming from you, cannot affect me; you are naturally the last person to whom your husband would have confided this horrible secret; but whatever happens, a time will come – and it is near, I hope – when the truth will be declared, and when the criminal will be unmasked before you."
"There are men, Señor, whom calumny, however skilfully concocted, cannot reach," answered she, with scorn.
"Let us cease this, Madame; all discussion between us would only serve the more to embitter us against each other. I repeat that I am not your enemy."
"But what are you then, and for what reason have you related this horrible story?"
"If you had had the patience to listen to me a few minutes more, Madame, you would have learned."
"What prevents you telling me, now that we are face to face?"
"I will tell you if you desire it, Madame," replied, he, coldly. "I should have preferred, however, that some other person, who might have more sympathy for you than I have, should perform this task."
"No, no, Sir; I am myself a Portuguese also, and when the honour of my name is concerned, my principle is to act for myself."
"As you please, Madame; I was about to make a proposition to you."
"A proposition – to me!" said she, haughtily.
"Yes, Madame."
"What is it? Be brief, if you please."
"I was about to ask you to give me your word not to quit this town without my authority, and not to try and communicate with your husband."
"Ah!