Part 67

He entered his cabinet and began to pack a valise. He had put in his money and jewels and Maria's picture and was gathering up his papers when there came three resounding knocks at the house door.

"Open in the name of the King! Open or we force the door!" said an imperious voice. Ibarra armed himself and looked toward the window; then changed his mind, threw down his revolver, and went to the door. Three guards immediately seized him.

"I make you prisoner in the name of the King!" said the sergeant.

"Why?"

"You will learn at the tribunal; I am forbidden to talk with you."

"I am at your disposition. It will not be for, I suppose, long."

"If you promise not to try to escape us, we may leave your hands free; the alférez grants you that favor."

Crisóstomo took his hat and followed the guards, leaving his servants in consternation.

Elias, after leaving the house of Ibarra, ran like a madman, not knowing whither. He crossed the fields and reached the wood. He was fleeing from men and their habitations; he was fleeing from light; the moon made him suffer. He buried himself in the mysterious silence of the wood. The birds stirred, wakened from their sleep; owls flew from branch to branch, screeching or looking at him with great, round eyes. Elias did not see or hear them; he thought he was followed by the irate shades of his ancestors. From every branch hung the bleeding head of Bâlat. At the foot of every tree he stumbled against the cold body of his grandmother; among the shadows swung the skeleton of his infamous grandfather; and the skeleton, the body, and the bleeding head cried out: "Coward! Coward!"

He ran on. He left the mountain and went down to the lake, moving feverishly along the shore; his wandering eyes became fixed upon a point on the tranquil surface, and there, surrounded by a silver nimbus and rocked by the tide, stood a shade which he seemed to recognize. Yes, that was her hair, so long and beautiful; yes, that was her breast, gaping from the poniard stroke. And the wretched man, kneeling in the sand, stretched out his arms to the cherished vision:

"Thou! Thou, too!" he cried.

His eyes fixed on the apparition, he rose, entered the water and descended the gentle slope of the beach. Already he was far from the bank; the waves lapped his waist; but he went on fascinated. The water reached his breast. Did he know it? Suddenly a volley tore the air; the night was so calm that the rifle shots sounded clear and sharp. He stopped, listened, came to himself; the shade vanished; the dream was gone. He perceived that he was in the lake, level with his eyes across the tranquil water he saw the lights in the poor cabins of fishermen. Everything came back to him. He made for the shore and went rapidly toward the pueblo.

San Diego was deserted; the houses were closed; even the dogs had hidden themselves. The glittering light that bathed everything detached the shadows boldly, making the solitude still more dreary.

Fearing to encounter the guards, Elias scaled fences and hedges, and so, making his way through the gardens, reached the home of Ibarra. The servants were around the door lamenting the arrest of their master. Elias learned what had happened, and made feint of going away, but returned to the back of the house, jumped the wall, climbed into a window and made his way to the laboratory. He saw the papers, the arms taken down, the bags of money and jewels, Maria's picture, and had a vision of Ibarra surprised by the soldiers. He meditated a moment and decided to bury the things of value in the garden. He gathered them up, went to the window, and saw gleaming in the moonlight the casques and bayonets of the guard. His plans were quickly laid. He hid about his person the money and jewels, and, after an instant's hesitation, the picture of Maria. Then, heaping all the papers in the middle of the room, he saturated them with oil from a lamp, threw the lighted candle in the midst, and sprang out of the window. It was none too soon: the guards were forcing entrance against the protests of the servants.

But dense smoke made its way through the house and tongues of flame began to break out. Soldiers and servants together cried fire and rushed toward the cabinet, but the flames had reached the chemicals, and their explosion drove every one back. The water the servants could bring was useless, and the house stood so apart that their cries brought no aid. The flames leaped upward amid great spirals of smoke; the house, long respected by the elements, was now their prisoner.

XLVIII.

GOSSIP.

It was not yet dawn. The street in which were the barracks and tribunal was still deserted; none of its houses gave a sign of life. Suddenly the shutter of a window opened with a bang and a child's head appeared, looking in all directions, the little neck stretched to its utmost--plas! It was the sound of a smart slap in contact with the fresh human skin. The child screwed up his face, shut his eyes, and disappeared from the window, which was violently closed again.

But the example had been given: the two bangs of the shutter had been heard. Another window opened, this time with precaution, and the wrinkled and toothless head of an old woman looked stealthily out. It was Sister Putá, the old dame who had caused such a commotion during Father Dámaso's sermon. Children and old women are the representatives of curiosity in the world; the children want to know, the old women to live over again. The old sister stayed longer than the child, and gazed into the distance with contracted brows. Timidly a skylight opened in the house opposite, giving passage to the head and shoulders of sister Rufa. The two old women looked across at each other, smiled, exchanged gestures, and signed themselves.

"Since the sack of the pueblo by Bâlat I've not known such a night!" said Sister Putá.

"What a firing! They say it was the band of old Pablo."

"Tulisanes? Impossible! I heard it was the cuadrilleros against the guards; that's why Don Filipo was arrested."

"They say at least fourteen are dead."

Other windows opened and people were seen exchanging greetings and gossip.

By the light of the dawn, which promised a splendid day, soldiers could now be seen dimly at the end of the street, like gray silhouettes coming and going.

"Do you know what it was?" asked a man, with a villainous face.

"Yes, the cuadrilleros."

"No, señor, a revolt!"