The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main. Gustave AimardЧитать онлайн книгу.
furiously with all four legs on the narrow path it was following, with eyes full of flashes, and apparently snorting fire through its dilated nostrils. The lady on its back, half reclining on its neck, had seized its long mane with both hands, and, half insane with terror, as she felt herself lost, she uttered stifled cries at intervals.
Very far in the rear, several horsemen, who formed almost imperceptible dots on the horizon, were coming up at full speed.
The track on which the horse was engaged, was narrow and rocky, and led to a precipice of frightful depth, toward which the animal was dashing with a headlong speed.
A man must either be mad, or endowed with a lion's courage, to try and save this unhappy woman under such conditions, when he had ninety-nine chances in a hundred of being crushed, without succeeding in rescuing her from death.
The two sailors, however, made no reflections of this nature, and without hesitation resolved to make a supreme effort. They stood facing each other on either side of the track, and waited without exchanging a word. They understood one another.
Two or three minutes elapsed, and then the horse passed like a tornado; but with the speed of thought the two men dashed forward, seized it by the bridle, and, hanging their whole weight on it, allowed themselves to be dragged onward by the furious animal.
There was for a moment a terrible struggle between intelligence and brute strength. At length the brute was conquered. The horse stumbled, and fell panting on the ground.
At the moment of its fall, the Count removed in his arms, the lady so miraculously saved, and he bore her to the side of the road, where he respectfully laid her down.
Terror had certainly deprived her of consciousness.
The Count guessing that the horsemen coming up, were relations or friends of her to whom he had just rendered so great a service, repaired the disorder in his clothes and awaited their arrival, while gazing admiringly at the young lady lying at his feet.
She was a charming young creature, scarce seventeen years of age, with a delicate waist, and marked and adorably beautiful features; her long black silky hair had escaped from the comb that confined it and fell in perfumed curls over her face, on which a slight flush presaged a speedy return to life.
The young lady's dress, which was very rich and remarkably elegant, would have led to the supposition that she was of high rank, had not the stamp of aristocracy, spread over her entire person, removed all doubts on that score.
Michael, with his characteristic coolness which nothing ever upset, had remained by the side of the horse which, calmed by the fall and trembling in all its limbs, had allowed itself to be raised without offering the slightest resistance; the Basque after removing the saddle, had plucked a wisp of grass, and began rubbing the horse down, while admiring it, and muttering every now and then.
"I don't care, it's a noble and beautiful animal! It would have been a pity had it rolled over that frightful precipice; I am glad it is saved."
The worthy sailor did not think the least bit in the world of the young lady, for his entire interest was concentrated on the horse.
When he had finished rubbing down, he put the saddle and bridle on again and led the horse up to the Count.
"There," he said with an air of satisfaction, "now the horse is calm; poor creature, a child could guide it with a thread."
In the meanwhile the horsemen rapidly approached, and soon came up to the two French sailors.
CHAPTER VI
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
These horsemen were four in number. Two of them appeared to be persons of importance, the other two were domestics.
On coming within a few steps of the Count, the first two dismounted, threw their bridles to the footman and advanced, hat in hand, towards the gentleman, whom they saluted with exquisite politeness.
The Count courteously returned their greeting, while taking a side-glance at them.
The first was a man of about sixty; he was tall, his demeanour was graceful and his face appeared handsome at the first glance, for the expression was imposing, although gentle and even kind. Still, on examining it with greater attention, it was possible to see from the gloomy fire of his glance, which seemed at times to emit magnetic flashes, that this gentleness was merely a mask intended to deceive the vulgar; his projecting cheek bones, his wide retiring forehead, his nose bent like a bird's beak and his square chin denoted a cold cruelty blended with a strong dose of obstinacy and pride.
This man wore a handsome hunting dress covered with lace, and a heavy gold chain, called a fanfaronne, was passed several times round his ostrich plumed hat.
This fanfaronne had been brought into fashion by the adventurers who returned from New Spain; and though very ridiculous, it had been enthusiastically adopted by the haughty Castilians.
This gentleman's companion, much younger than he, but dressed quite as richly, had one of those faces whose features at the first glance appear so commonplace and insignificant, that you do not take the trouble of looking at them, and an observer might pass close by without seeing them, but his small grey eyes sparkling with cleverness, half hidden under bushy eyebrows, and the curl of his thin sarcastic lip, would have completely contradicted any physiognomist, who might take this person for a man of common intellect and ordinary capacity.
The elder of the two riders bowed a second time.
"Sir," he said, "I am the Duc de Peñaflor; the person whose life you have saved by running such a risk of losing your own, is my daughter, Doña Clara de Peñaflor."
As the Count came from Languedoc, he spoke Spanish as purely as his mother tongue.
"I am delighted, sir," he replied with a graceful bow, "at having served as the instrument of providence to preserve a child for her father."
"I think," the second rider observed, "that it would be as well to offer Doña Clara some succour; my dear cousin seems to be seriously indisposed."
"It is only emotion," the young man replied; "that caused this fainting fit, which, if I am not mistaken, is beginning to wear off."
"Yes indeed," said the Duke, "I think I saw her make a slight movement, it will be better not to trouble her, but let her regain her senses quietly; in that way, we shall avoid a shock whose results are sometimes very dangerous to delicate and nervous organisations, like that of my dear child."
All this was spoken with a cold, dry, steady voice, very different to what a father ought to have employed, whose daughter had just miraculously escaped death.
The young officer did not know what to think of his real or feigned indifference.
It was only Spanish hauteur. The Duke loved his daughter as much as his proud and ambitious nature allowed him to do, but he would have been ashamed to let it be seen, especially by a stranger.
"Sir," the Duke resumed a moment later, as he stepped aside to display the gentlemen who accompanied him, "I have the honour of presenting to you my cousin and friend, Count Don Stenio de Bejar y Sousa."
The two gentlemen bowed to each other.
The Count had no motive to maintain an incognito, and saw that the moment had arrived to make himself known.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I am Count Ludovic de Barmont Senectaire, Captain in the Navy, and commanding the French frigate the Erigone, now anchored in Algeciras Bay."
On hearing the Count's name pronounced, the Duke's face turned frightfully pale; he frowned till his eyebrows joined, and he gave him a strangely meaning glance.
But this emotion did not last longer than a flash: by a violent effort of the will the Spaniard thrust back to the bottom of his heart, the feelings that agitated him; his previous impassiveness returned to his face, and he bowed with a smile.
The ice was broken between the three gentlemen, for they saw they were equals; their manner at once changed, and they became as affable as they had at first been stiff and reserved.
The Duke was the first to renew the conversation in the