The Buccaneer Chief. Gustave AimardЧитать онлайн книгу.
reflect. "Are they far off?" he at length asked.
"Speak, Bowline, my boy," said Michael, turning to his comrade, "and don't shiver your sails, the captain is hailing you."
"Well, then, Captain," said Bowline, a sturdy Breton, with a crafty look, "I sighted them over the starboard quarter at about four o'clock; I spread all my canvas to distance them, and I fancy I have left them four or five cables length in the rear."
"In that case we have about an hour before us?"
"Yes, about, Captain," Bowline replied.
"That is more than we want; listen, my lads, and swear on your honour as sailors to obey me."
"You may be quite sure we shan't fail, Captain," they answered.
"I reckon on you."
"Shiver my topsails, we know that," Michael replied.
"Whatever may happen to me," the stranger continued, "leave me to act alone, unless I give you express orders to come to my assistance. If the Cardinal's bloodhounds were to arrive while we are up aloft, you will bolt."
"We bolt!" the two sailors exclaimed.
"You must, lads! Who would deliver me if we were all three prisoners?" the stranger asked.
"That's true," Michael answered.
"Well then, that's settled, is it not?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Ah! By the way, if I am arrested you will want money to liberate me; take this."
He placed in their hands a heavy purse, which the sailors accepted without any remark.
"Now follow me, and keep your weather eye open, my lads."
"All right, Captain," Michael answered, "we are on watch."
The stranger then proceeded towards the house, closely followed by the two sailors. He reached the passage, at the end of which the travellers' room was, at the moment when Master Pivois and his wife were locking themselves in their bedroom.
The coach, guarded by the driver and a footman, was still standing in front of the principal entrance, but the three men passed unnoticed.
So soon as the landlady had left the room, the traveller who appeared to have a certain degree of authority over his companions, opened the bedroom door, doubtless to make certain there was no spy listening; then he took a chair, sat down by the fire, and made a sign to his companions to imitate him; the two lackeys alone remained standing near the door, with their hands resting on the muzzles of their carbines, butts of which were on the ground.
For some moments there was a funereal silence in this room, although six persons were assembled in it.
At length the traveller made up his mind to speak, and addressed the young lady, who was reclining in her chair, with her head bent on her breast and pendant arms.
"My daughter," he said, in a grave voice, and speaking in Spanish, "the moment has arrived for a clear and distinct explanation between us, for we have only four leagues to travel ere we reach the end of our long journey. I intend to remain twenty-four hours in this hostelry, in order to give you time to repair your strength, and allow you to appear in a proper state before the man for whom I destine you."
The young lady only replied to this dry address by a hollow groan.
Her father continued, without appearing to notice the utter state of prostration in which she was—
"Remember, my daughter, that if, on the entreaty of your brothers here present, I consented to pardon the fault you have committed, it is on the express condition that you will obey my orders without hesitation, and do all I wish."
"My child?" she murmured, in a voice choked by grief—"What have you done with my child?"
The traveller frowned, and a livid pallor covered his face; but he immediately recovered himself.
"That question again, unhappy girl?" he said, in a gloomy voice; "Do not trifle with my wrath by reminding me of your crime, and the dishonour of my house."
At these words the girl drew herself up suddenly, and with a hurried gesture pulled off the velvet mask that covered her face.
"I am not guilty," she said, in a haughty voice, and looking her father in the face; "and you are perfectly aware of it, for it was you who introduced the Count de Barmont to me. You encouraged our love, and it was by your orders that we were secretly married. You dare not assert the contrary."
"Silence, wretch!" the traveller exclaimed, and rose passionately.
"Father!" the two gentlemen, who had hitherto remained motionless and as if strangers to this stormy interview, exclaimed, as they threw themselves before him.
"Well," he said, as he resumed his seat, "I will restrain myself: I will only ask you one further question, Doña Clara—will you obey me?"
She hesitated for a moment, and then appeared to form a supreme resolution.
"Listen to me, my father," she replied, in a hurried though firm voice; "you told me yourself that the moment for an explanation between us had arrived; very well, let us have this explanation. I, too, am your daughter, and jealous of the honour of our house; that is why I insist on your answering me without equivocation or deception."
While speaking thus, the young lady, who was only sustained by the factitious strength sorrow imparted to her, for she was frail and delicate, was supremely beautiful; with her body bent back, her head haughtily raised, her long and silky black hair falling in disorder on her shoulders, and contrasting with the marble pallor of her face; with her large eyes, inflamed by fever and inundated with tears, that slowly coursed down her cheeks, and with her bosom heaving from the emotion that held mastery over her—there was about her whole person something deathly, which seemed no longer to belong to the earth.
Her father felt involuntarily affected, in spite of his ferocious pride; and it was with a less rough voice he replied—
"I am listening to you."
"Father," she resumed, leaning her hand on the back of her chair in order to support herself, "I told you that I am not guilty, and I repeat that the Count de Barmont and myself were secretly united in the church of la Merced at Cadiz, and were so by your orders. As you know it, I will not dwell further on this point; my child is, therefore legitimate, and I have a right to be proud of it. How is it, then, that you, the Duke de Peñaflor, belonging to the highest class in Spain, not satisfied with tearing me on the very day of marriage from the husband yourself selected, and depriving me of my infant on the day of its birth, accused me of committing a horrible crime, and insisted on enchaining me to another husband, while my first is still living? Answer me, my father, so that I may know the nature of that honour about which you so often speak to me, and what is the motive that renders you so cruel to an unfortunate girl, who owes her life to you, and who, ever since she has been in this world, has only felt love and respect for you."
"This is too much, unnatural daughter!" the Duke shouted, as he rose wrathfully—"And as you are not afraid of braving me so unworthily—"
But he suddenly checked himself, and stood motionless, trembling with fury and horror; the bedroom door had suddenly opened, and a man appeared in it, upright, haughty, with flashing eye, and hand on his sword hilt.
"Ludovic, at last!" the young lady shrieked, as she rushed towards him.
But her brothers caught her by the arms, and constrained her to sit down again.
"The Count de Barmont!" the Duke muttered.
"Myself, my lord Duke de Peñaflor," the stranger replied, with exquisite politeness—"you did not expect me, it appears to me?"
And, walking a few paces into the room, while the two sailors who had followed him guarded the door, he proudly put his hat on again, and folded his arms.
"What