Whilst the ceremony we have described was being accomplished, a terrible event was passing not far from it, on the banks of the river, in the camp of Don Tadeo de Leon. The three parties which divided Chili, and aimed at governing it, had, as if of one accord, chosen the day for the renewal of the treaty to throw off the mask and give their partisans the signal of revolt. Don Tadeo, who feared everything from Doña Maria and the General's spies, had consented, but with regret, that Rosario should accompany him to the plain, to be present at the ceremony; he had taken her from the convent, and brought the young girl with him, inwardly pleased that she would thus not be in Valdivia during the serious events that were there preparing.

Doña Rosario, to tell the truth, had only consulted her love in the request she had made of her guardian; the desire of seeing unobserved, for a few hours, the object of her affections, had dictated it. Don Tadeo, who could not on any account be present at the ceremony, being obliged to conceal himself, took the two young Frenchmen aside as soon as his little encampment was arranged. It was then about seven o'clock in the morning, and the crowd began to flock to the plain. The King of Darkness cast a prudent and searching look around, but, reassured by the complete solitude that prevailed, he at length decided upon explaining to the young men, who were astonished at this strange proceeding, all that appeared so unusual and inconsistent in his conduct.

"Caballeros," he said, "since I have had the honour of knowing you, I have concealed nothing from you, and you know all my secrets; this day must decide the question of life or death to which, from my boyhood, I have devoted all the energies of my mind. I must leave this spot instantly, and return to Valdivia. It is in that city that the first blow will be struck, within a few hours, against the tyrant, and the struggle I expect will be terrible. I am not willing to expose the young lady whom you know, and whose life you have already saved, to the chances of it. I confide the care of her to one of you, the other will accompany me to the city. In the event of any fatal mischance happening to me, I will place in his hands a paper, which will inform you both of my intentions, and of what I wish you to do with that poor child, who is all I hold dear on earth, and whom I leave with the greatest pain. Which of you, gentlemen, will take charge of Doña Rosario during my absence?"

"Be at ease, Don Tadeo, go where your duty calls you," Louis answered, in a solemn but agitated tone; "I swear that while I live no danger, either near or distant, shall assail her; to reach her it must pass over my dead body."

"Receive my warmest thanks, Don Louis," the Dark-Heart replied, somewhat surprised, and yet affected by the manner of the Frenchman; "I place implicit faith in your words; I know you will keep your vow at all risks; besides, in a few hours I hope I shall be back, and here she can have nothing to dread."

"I will watch over her," the young man said, quietly.

"Once again I thank you."

Don Tadeo left the young men, and returned to the tent where Doña Rosario, reclining in a hammock, was gently swinging herself, and indulging in perhaps pleasing reveries. On seeing her guardian, she sprang up eagerly.

"Do not disturb yourself, my child," said Don Tadeo, putting her back with a gentle hand, "I have but two words to say to you."

"I am always attentive to you, my kind friend."

"I have come to bid you farewell."

"Farewell, Don Tadeo!" she exclaimed, in great terror.

"Oh! comfort yourself, timid darling! only for a few hours."

"Ah! that is all!" she said, with a smile of satisfaction.

"Certainly, all! There is in this neighbourhood an exceedingly curious grotto. I was foolish enough to let some words slip concerning it this morning before Don Valentine, and that demon of a Frenchman," he added, with a smile, "insists upon my showing it to him; so that, in order to get rid of his importunities, I have been obliged to comply."

"You have done quite right," she said, eagerly; "we are under great obligations to those two French caballeros, and what he asked is such a trifle!"

"That it would have been uncourteous on my part to refuse him," Don Tadeo interrupted, "therefore I have not. We shall set off directly, in order to be the sooner back. Be as cheerful as you can during our absence, dear child."

"I will endeavour," she said, absently.

"Besides, I shall leave Don Louis to take care of you; you can chat together, and the time will quickly pass away."

The young girl blushed as she stammered – "Come back soon, dear friend."

"Time to go and return, that is all; adieu, then, darling!"

Don Tadeo left the tent, and rejoined the young men.

"Adieu, Don Louis!" he said. "Are you ready, Don Valentine?"

"Ready!" the Frenchman replied, laughing; "Caramba! I should be in despair at losing such an opportunity of judging whether you understand getting up revolutions as well as we Frenchmen do."

"Oh! We are but young at the work yet," Don Tadeo remarked; "and yet we begin to have some idea of the matter, I assure you."

"Good-bye, Louis, for a time," said Valentine, pressing his friend's hand; and stooping towards his ear, he added – "Be thankful to your stars, do you not see that Heaven protects your love?" The young man only replied by shaking his head despondingly, and sighing deeply. A peon had brought the horses for the two Chilians and the Frenchman, and they were soon in the saddle. They set off at a quick pace, and were quickly lost in the high grass and the windings of the road. Louis returned pensively to the camp, where he found Doña Rosario alone in her tent; the two Indian chiefs, attracted by curiosity, having gone in the direction of the chapel, where, mingled with the crowd, they might be present at the ceremony. The arrieros and the peons had not been long in following their example.

The young girl was seated on a heap of dyed sheepskins in front of the tent, dreamily looking at, but without seeing, the clouds which were driven across the heavens by a strong breeze. Doña Rosario was a charming girl of sixteen, slender, fragile, and delicate, small in person, whose least gestures and least movements possessed inexpressible attractions. Of a rare kind of beauty in America, she was fair; her long silky hair was of the colour of ripe golden corn; her blue eyes, in which were reflected the azure of the heavens, had that melancholy, dreamy expression which we attribute only to angels, and young girls who are beginning to love; her nose, with its pinky nostrils, was inclined to be aquiline; while her mouth, rather serious, with rosy lips set off by teeth of dazzling whiteness, and her skin of pearl-like purity, altogether made her a charming creature.

The noise of the approaching young man's steps roused her from her reverie. She turned her head in the direction, and looked at him with inexpressible sadness, although a faint smile played upon her lips.

"It is I," said the Count, in a low, inarticulate voice, bowing respectfully.

"I knew of your coming," she replied, in a sweetly-toned voice. "Oh! why did you return to me at all?"

"Be not angry with me for drawing near you once more. I endeavoured to obey you; I left the spot you resided in, without, alas! even the hope of seeing you again; but destiny has decided otherwise."

She gave him a long and eloquent look.

"Unfortunately," he continued, with a melancholy smile, "you are condemned for some hours to endure my presence."

"I must resign myself to it," she said, extending her hand to him cordially.

The young man imprinted a burning kiss upon the white, soft hand he held.

"And so we are left alone!" she said gaily, but withdrawing her hand.

"Good heavens! yes, nearly so," he replied, falling in with her humour. "The Indian chiefs and the peons, overcome by curiosity, have joined the crowds, and kindly procured us a tête-à-tête."

"In the midst of ten thousand people!" she said, smiling.

"That is all the better; everyone is engaged with his own affairs, without troubling himself about those of others; and we can speak to each other without the fear of being interrupted by importunate persons."

"True," she said, thoughtfully; "it is frequently amidst a crowd that we find the greatest solitude."

"Does not the heart possess that great faculty of being able to isolate itself when it pleases – to fold itself, as it were, within itself?"

"And is not that faculty often a misfortune?"

"Perhaps it is," he replied, with a sigh.

"But how comes it?" she said, with a half-smiling air, in order to change the conversation, which was becoming a little too serious. "Pardon my giddy impertinence! How comes it, I say, that you, of whom I sometimes caught a glimpse at Paris, during my short sojourn there, and who then enjoyed, if I was not mistaken, a brilliant position, should meet me here so far from your country?"

"Alas! madam, my history is that of many young men, and may be summed up in two words – weakness and ignorance."

"That is but too true; that is the history of nearly all the world, in Europe as well as in America."

At this moment a great noise reached them from the camp. Doña Rosario and the Count were placed so as not to be able to see what was passing in the plain.

"What is that noise?" she asked.

"Probably the tumult of the festival which reaches us: should you like to be present at this ceremony?"

"To what purpose? Those cries and that tumult terrify me."

"And yet, I thought it was you who asked Don Tadeo to see this."

"A silly girl's caprice," she said, "which passed away as soon as conceived."

"But was it not Don Tadeo's intention to – "

"Who can tell Don Tadeo's intention?" she interrupted, with a sigh.

"He appears to love you tenderly?" Louis hazarded, timidly.

"Sometimes I am on the point of believing so; he pays me the most delicate attentions, shews me the tenderest care; then at other times he appears to endure me with, pain – he repulses me – my caresses annoy him."

"Singular conduct!" the Count observed; "this gentleman is your relation, there can be no doubt."

"I do not know," she replied ingenuously; "when alone and pensive, my thoughts stray back to my early years. I have some vague remembrance of a young and handsome woman, whose black eyes smiled upon me constantly, and whose rosy lips lavished affectionate kisses upon me; and then, all at once, a complete darkness comes over my brain, and memory entirely fails me. As far back as I can recollect, I find nobody but Don Tadeo watching over me, everywhere and always, as a father would do over his daughter."

"Perhaps, then," said the Count, "he is your father."

"Listen. One day, after a long and dangerous illness which I had just gone through, and in which Don Tadeo had night and day watched over my pillow for more than a month, happy at seeing me restored to life, for he had been fearful he should lose me, he smiled upon me tenderly, kissed my brow and my hands, and appeared to experience the most lively joy. 'Oh!' I said, as a sudden thought rushed across my mind; 'oh! you are my father! None but a father could devote himself with such abnegation for his child!' and throwing my arms round his neck, I concealed my tear-laden face on his chest. Don Tadeo arose, his countenance was lividly pale, his features were frightfully contracted; he repulsed me roughly, and strode hastily about the chamber. I Your father! I! Doña Rosario!' he cried, in a husky voice, 'you are a silly, poor child! Never repeat those words again; your father is dead, and your mother, likewise, long, long ago. I am not your father – never repeat that word – I am only your friend. Yes, your father, at the point of death, confided you to my care, and that is why I am bringing you up, that is why I watch over you; as to me, I am not even your relation!' His agitation was extreme; he said many other things which I do not now remember, and then he left me. Alas! from that day I have never ventured to ask him for any account of my family."

A silence ensued; the two young people were pensively thoughtful: the simple and touching recital of Doña Rosario had strongly affected the Count. At length he said, in a tremulous voice, —

"Let me love you, Doña Rosario!"

The maiden sighed.

"To what could that love lead, Don Louis?" she said sadly, – "to death, perhaps!"

"Oh!" he exclaimed madly; "and it would be welcome, if it came in your defence!"

At this very instant, several individuals rushed into the tent, uttering discordant cries. Quick as thought, the Count threw himself before the young girl, a pistol in each hand. But, as if Heaven had decreed that he should accomplish the wish he had just uttered, before he had time to defend himself, he was struck to the earth, stabbed by several machetes. In falling, he saw, as if in a dream, Doña Rosario seized by two individuals, who fled away with her in their arms. With an incredible effort, the young man succeeded in getting on his knees, and afterwards in rising altogether. He beheld the ravishers hastening towards their horses, which were being held at a short distance by an Indian. He took aim at the flying wretches, crying, with a faint voice, "Murder! Murder!" and fired.

One of the ravishers fell, uttering an imprecation of rage. The Count, exhausted by the superhuman effort he had made, staggered like a drunken man; the blood gushed from his ears, his sight grew dim, and he rolled senseless upon the ground.

CHAPTER XXX
THE PROTEST

The three travellers returned with such speed to Valdivia, that it scarcely took them an hour and a half to traverse the distance which divided the plain from the city. They passed on their way General Don Pancho Bustamente, at the head of a detachment of lanceros, and attended by a numerous staff; but the Dark-Hearts, employing their usual precautions, escaped notice. Don Tadeo cast an ironical glance at his enemy.

"Look," he said, with a somewhat malignant smile, to Don Gregorio, "at our worthy general; he fancies himself already protector. What a majestic bearing he affects!"

"Yes," said Don Gregorio, with the same expression; "but between the cup and the lip he may find there is room for a mischance."

It was striking ten as they entered Valdivia. The city was almost deserted: for all who were not detained at home by urgent business had gone to the plain, to be present at the renewal of the treaties between the Chilians and the Araucanos. This ceremony strongly interested the inhabitants of the province: it was for them a guarantee of tranquillity for the future; that is to say, the liberty of carrying on with safety their commercial transactions with the Indians. More than all the other provinces of Chili, Valdivia had cause to dread hostilities with its redoubtable neighbours. Separated entirely from the territory of the republic, when left to its own resources, the least movement among the Moluchos annihilated its commerce. If the inhabitants appeared to have emigrated for a time, it was not the same with the soldiers; the numerous garrison, composed – a thing unheard of in time of peace – of fifteen hundred men, had been still further increased within the last two days, principally in the course of the preceding night, by two regiments of cavalry, and a battery of artillery.

For what purpose was this calling together of forces, which nothing appeared to justify? The few inhabitants who remained in the city experienced a vague uneasiness on this head, for which they could not account. There is a singular fact that we wish to point out here, but which we by no means take upon ourselves to explain, because it has always seemed to us inexplicable. When a great event, whatever it may be, is about to be accomplished in a country, a vague presentiment seems to warn the inhabitants; men and things assume an unusual aspect; nature itself, associating with this disposition of men's minds, grows sensibly darker; a magnetic fluid rushes through the veins; a painful pressure weighs upon every breast; the atmosphere becomes heavy; the sun loses its brilliancy; and people only communicate their impressions to each other in a suppressed voice; in short, there is in the air something incomprehensible, but I know not what, which says to man in a dismal tone, "Beware! a catastrophe threatens thee!" And this fatal presentiment is so general, that when the event takes place, and the crisis is over, every one instinctively cries, "I felt it!" And yet no one could say why he foresaw the cataclysm.

It is the sentiment of self-preservation which God has placed in the heart of man – that sentiment which constitutes his safeguard, and is so strong, that when danger approaches him, it cries to him, "Beware!" Valdivia was at this moment oppressed by the weight of an unknown apprehension. The few citizens who remained in the city hastened to regain their homes. Numerous patrols of cavalry and infantry traversed the streets in all directions; cannon rolled along with portentous noise, and were planted at the comers of all the principal places. At the cabildo a crowd of officers and soldiers went in and out with a busy air; couriers succeeded each other unceasingly, and after having delivered the orders with which they were charged, set off again at full speed.

At the same time, at the corners of streets, men wrapped in large cloaks, and with hats pulled down over their eyes, harangued the workmen and the sailors of the port, and formed groups, which every instant became more numerous. In these groups, arms, gun barrels, bayonets, and pike heads began to glitter in the sun. When these mysterious men were satisfied that they had accomplished their task in one place, they went to another. Immediately after their departure, as if by magic, barricades were raised behind them, and impeded the passage. As soon as a barricade was terminated, an energetic-looking sentinel, a workman with bare arms, but with a callous hand, brandishing a gun, an axe, or a sabre, placed himself at its summit, and bade all who approached go another way.

On entering the city, Don Tadeo and his companions found themselves completely barricaded. Don Tadeo smiled triumphantly. The three men cleared the barricades, which were thrown open at their approach, and the sentinels bowed to them as they passed. We have forgotten to say that all three were masked. There was something striking in the march of these three phantoms, before whom all obstacles gave way. If now and then a stray citizen ventured to ask timidly who those three masked men were, he received for answer, "It is the King of Darkness and his lieutenants;" and the citizen, trembling with fear, crossed himself, and went his way hastily.

The three men thus arrived at the entrance of the Plaza Mayor. There two pieces of mounted cannon barred their passage, and the artillerymen were at their guns waiting, match in hand. At a sign from Don Tadeo, the officer who commanded approached him. He leant down upon the neck of his horse and said a few words to the officer in a whisper; the latter bowed respectfully, and, turning to his soldiers, said —

"Let these gentlemen pass."

In all the cities of Spanish America there is a monumental fountain in the centre of the Plaza Mayor. It was towards this fountain that Don Tadeo conducted his companions. A hundred individuals, scattered here and there, and who appeared to expect him, drew together at his approach.

"Well," Don Tadeo asked Valentine, "how do you like our ride?"

"Delightful," the other replied, "only I fancy we shall shortly come to blows, and hear the hissing of bullets."

"I hope so," said the conspirator, coolly.

"Ah! ah!" the young man remarked, "all is for the best, then?"

"You are about to be present at a very interesting spectacle."

"Oh! I depend upon you for that. For my part, I am glad at not having lost such an opportunity."

"Is it not one?"

"Pardieu! – yes. It is astonishing how travelling instructs one," he added, in the form of a parenthesis.

The individuals assembled near the fountain surrounded them with every mark of the profoundest respect. These were the faithful – the Dark-Hearts – upon whom perfect dependence was to be placed.

"Gentlemen," said Don Tadeo, "the struggle is about to commence. I desire at length that you should know me, that you should be informed who the man is who commands you."

And he threw off his mask. A burst of enthusiasm broke from the ranks of the conspirators. "Don Tadeo de Leon!" they cried with astonishment, mingled with a species of veneration for the man who had suffered so much for the common cause.

"Yes, gentlemen," Don Tadeo replied, "the man whom the creatures of the tyrant condemned to death, and whom God has miraculously preserved, in order to be the instrument of His vengeance today."

All the conspirators pressed tumultuously round him. These men of spontaneous impressions, and essentially superstitious, no longer doubted of victory, since they had at their head the man whom God, as they believed, had so manifestly protected. Don Tadeo had calculated upon this manifestation to heighten the ardour of the conspirators, and to augment still further the prestige he enjoyed. The result had answered his expectations.

"Is everyone at his post?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Are arms and ammunition distributed?"

"To everybody."

"Are all the barricades completed? – all the gates of the city guarded?"

"All."

"That is well. Now wait."

And quiet was re-established.

All these men had known Don Tadeo for a long time; they appreciated his character at its true value; they had already vowed to him a boundless friendship; and now they knew that Don Tadeo and the King of Darkness were the same person, they were ready to lay down their lives for him. The news of the revelation which had been made near the fountain spread through the city with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder, and added greatly to the fermentation which already prevailed. Whilst the few words were being exchanged between the chief of the conspirators and his party, a regiment of infantry had formed in front of the cabildo, flanked right and left by two squadrons of horse.

"Attention!" Don Tadeo commanded.

A sensation of impatience pervaded the men grouped around him.

"Eh! eh!" Valentine murmured, with that mocking, short laugh that was peculiar to him; "this is going on capitally! Caramba! we shall soon have some fun!"

The gates of the cabildo were thrown open violently, and a general, followed by a brilliant staff, took his station on the top step of the great staircase; next several senators made their appearance in full costume, and formed a group round him. At a signal from the general, the drums beat for a time, to secure attention and silence. When all was quiet, a senator, who held a roll of paper in his hand, came forward a few steps, and prepared to read.

"Bah!" said the General, seizing his arm, "Why lose your time in reading that rubbish? Leave it to me."

The senator, who asked no better than to be freed from the dangerous commission with which, very much against his will, he had been charged, rolled up his papers, and retreated to the rear. The general assumed a commanding posture, placed his hand upon his hip, with the point of his sword on the ground, and said in a voice audible in every corner of the place —

"People of the province of Valdivia, the sovereign senate, assembled in congress at Santiago de Chili, has unanimously passed the following resolutions: —

"1st. The various provinces of the Chilian republic shall be composed of independent states united under the title of the Confederation of the United States of South America.

"2nd. The valiant and most excellent general, Don Pancho Bustamente, has been elected Protector of the Chilian Confederation."

"People, cry with me – 'Long live the Protector Don Pancho Bustamente!'"

The officers grouped round the General, and the soldiers drawn up in the place, shouted —

"Long live the Protector!"

But the people were mute.

"Hum!" the general murmured to himself; "they do not display much enthusiasm."

A man came forward from the group collected round the fountain, and advanced boldly to within twenty paces of the soldiers. This man was Don Tadeo de Leon; his countenance was calm and his bearing firm and collected. He made a sign with his hand.

"What is your will?" the general shouted.

"To reply to your proclamation," the King of Darkness said, intrepidly.

"Speak! I hear you," the general replied.

Don Tadeo bowed with a significant smile.

"In the name of the Chilian people," he said, in a loud, clear voice, "the senate of Santiago de Chili, composed of creatures sold to the tyrant, is declared traitorous to its country."

"Miserable fellow! what do you dare to say?" the General cried, angrily.

"No insults, if you please! Allow me to terminate the answer I have to give you," Don Tadeo replied, coolly.

The General, involuntarily brow-beaten by the heroic courage of this man, who, alone, unarmed before a triple row of muskets ready to be directed towards his breast, had dared to speak in this loud, firm tone, and overcome by that ascendancy which a great character always exercises, bit the pommel of his sword with rage.

"In the name of the people," Don Tadeo, still calm and stoical, continued, "Don Pancho Bustamente is declared a traitor to his country, and as such is degraded from his titles and his power. Liberty! Chili!"

"Liberty! Chili!" the populace assembled on the square shouted with the greatest enthusiasm.

"Oh, this is too audacious!" the General cried, pale with anger. "Soldiers, seize that rebel!"

Several soldiers stepped forward; but, quicker than thought, Don Gregorio and Valentine had sprung to Don Tadeo's side, and dragged him back with them among the people.

"Cordieu!" cried Valentine, pressing his hands enough to crush them, "you are a troublesome man! but I love you the better for it."

The General, outrageous at seeing his enemy escape, shouted silence. "In the name of the Protector," he said, "I command that rebel to be given up!"

Hisses and hootings were the only reply.

"Fire!" the General commanded, who, even before the last insulting manifestation, had perceived that no half measures were possible. The muskets were lowered, and a formidable discharge pealed like thunder. Several men fell, killed or wounded.

"Chili! Liberty! down with the oppressor!" the people shouted, arming themselves with everything they could lay their hands on. A second discharge resounded, followed closely by a third. The ground was, in an instant, strewed with the dead and dying; but the patriots showed no disposition to disperse; on the contrary, under the incessant fire of the soldiers, they organized a resistance, and soon replied by a few shots to the incessant platoon firing which was decimating them. The combat became mutual; the revolution had commenced.

"Hum!" the General muttered to himself, "I have undertaken a rather awkward mission."

But, essentially a soldier, and endowed to the highest degree with that spirit of passive obedience which distinguishes all who have grown old in harness, he prepared either to chastise the insurgents severely, or die at his post.