The Queen of the Savannah: A Story of the Mexican WarAimard, Gustave
History
The Queen of the Savannah: A Story of the Mexican War
Aimard, Gustave
Mexico -- History -- Wars of Independence, 1810-1821 -- Fiction
The count smiled and touched a spring. The door opened, and the
Canadian repressed a cry of surprise as the count informed him they
were really in an inner court of the hacienda, which was at this
moment empty. The travellers entered, and then the gate was closed so
hermetically, and so thoroughly formed a part of the wall through the
stones with which it was covered, that in spite of the attention with
which the adventurer examined it, it was impossible for him to discover
its exact position.
"It is prodigious!" he muttered.
"Not at all," the count replied, gently; "it is, on the contrary, a
very ordinary affair, only due to the skill of the workman who was
intrusted with the job. But let us lose no more time here; Diego López,
convey the wounded man to the green room. Do not trouble yourself about
your horse, Señor Clary, it will be taken care of; come."
"Hang it, the beast is valuable; and were it only for the sake of the
person from whom I obtained it, I should not like any accident to
happen to it."
"As for that, be at your ease; your horse will be as well taken care of
as if it belonged to me."
Completely reassured by this promise, the Canadian dismounted and
accompanied his host into the house. The count's unexpected arrival
and the mysterious way in which he entered the hacienda caused some
surprise to his people, who did not understand how he could have got in
unseen by any of the sentries in a so carefully guarded fortress. The
reception the countess gave the adventurer was not merely polite, but
even affectionate, and very different from the somewhat dry manner in
which she greeted him on the first occasion. Don Melchior was put to
bed; and when the count and the Canadian entered the green room, the
doctor of the hacienda was attending to him. The young man was asleep.
"Well," the count asked, presently, "what do you think about your
patient, doctor?"
The doctor, or, to speak more correctly, the barber, who undertook that
duty, drew himself up, pursed his eyebrows, and replied gravely--
"This young man is as well as his state allows him to be. I have bled
him copiously, which, I believe, will produce a favourable result; in
two days, if no serious accident occur, I can promise you that he will
feel but little of the numerous contusions he has received."
"Thanks, doctor, for your good prognostics; attend to this young man as
you would to myself; I have the greatest wish to hear him talk as soon
as possible, even if he cannot get about."
"I will give you that satisfaction this very evening, Excellency,"
the doctor answered. "When the patient awakes, his strength will have
returned sufficiently to allow him to answer any questions you may
think proper to ask him."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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