LITMIR.BIZ

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think of that. The message is important, then?"

      "It could not be more so."

      "Diable! Let us see, Don Emile," pursued the Pincheyra, in a conciliatory tone. "If I could, I would not hesitate to escort these two unfortunate ladies."

      "You refuse me this service, then, caballero?" added Don Zeno.

      "Well," said the young man, as if it had cost him a great deal to make this determination, "as you wish it, for this time I again consent to take upon myself an embarrassment of which I thought I was rid. I will escort these ladies."

      Don Zeno made a gesture of joy which he immediately repressed.

      "Thank you, caballero," said he. "Perhaps God will permit me, someday, to acquit myself of all that I owe you. Now that this affair is settled to our mutual satisfaction, allow me to take leave of you."

      "Do you intend to depart so quickly then?"

      "It must be. I cannot make too great haste. So, now that I have rested myself sufficiently for the various fatigues that I have for some time endured, I leave you, confiding in your loyal word, and convinced that you will act up to it."

      "I shall fulfil my promise, señor."

      "Thank you, caballero. I entirely reckon on you."

      And after having amicably taken the hand of the young Frenchman, and having courteously bowed to Don Pablo, the partisan proceeded to rejoin his companions.

      Don Zeno mounted his horse, made a last salute, and giving his horse the bridle, departed at full speed.

      The painter followed him with his eyes as long as he could perceive him. Then, when at last the Montonero had disappeared behind the point of a rock, he gave a sigh of relief.

      "That is one; now for the other? As to the latter, I think it will not be very difficult."

      Don Pablo, still seated on the hillock of which he had made a seat, continued to smoke his cigarette.

      The young man seated himself at his side, considered a moment, and placing his hand on the other's shoulder:

      "Vive Dieu! Don Pablo," cried he with vigour; "For A month past I have lived in your camp; I have seen you accomplish marvellous things; but this far surpasses all the others."

      "Eh!" said the partisan. "What do you mean?"

      "Nothing. I render you homage, that is all."

      "Homage!" repeated Don Pablo; "Why?"

      "What makes you say why? Parbleu! I did not expect such an excess of modesty."

      "Are we speaking in enigmas?"

      "Do I not Know that you have played your part to perfection – I who, without being in the secret of the motives which have induced you to act thus, know the man as well as you."

      "What secret? What motives? And of what man do you speak, companion?" cried Don Pablo impatiently.

      "Pardieu! Of the man who has just left us."

      "Don Sebastiao Vianna, the aide-de-camp of General de Castelmelhor."

      "Well, it is capitally played," said Emile. "But now all dissimulation is useless. For the rest, if you persist in not uttering his name, that is your own affair. All this, in fact, does not much disturb me. You are free to give to Don Zeno Cabral the name of Dom Sebastiao."

      "Eh!" cried the partisan, jumping up, "What name did you say?"

      Don Pablo knit his eyebrows. A livid pallor covered his face.

      "So this man," cried he, in a voice stifled by anger, "this man is Don Zeno Cabral?"

      "Did you really not know that?" asked the young man.

      "Yes, I was ignorant of it," cried the Pincheyra. "Do you swear it?"

      "Pardieu! I have known him so long that I cannot be deceived."

      The partisan darted a fierce look at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but changing his mind, he turned suddenly, and proceeded hastily towards his men, encamped around the tambo.

      "To horse! To horse!" cried he to them.

      "I believe," murmured the Frenchman, following him with a searching glance, "that the first one will free me from this one, unless it should be that this man should deliver me from the first."

      CHAPTER V

      FREE – PERHAPS

      After his Machiavellian soliloquy, the Frenchman, rubbing his hands, advanced cautiously towards the tambo, following with a gloomy countenance the preparations for departure being made by the Pincheyras.

      Don Pablo was ready the first.

      "Don Emile," said he to the young man, "I do not seek to fathom the motives which have induced you to conceal from me till this moment the name of a man whom – you have known for a long time as my enemy."

      The Frenchman wished to interrupt him.

      "Do not say anything to me," cried he with violence; "the service that you have rendered me is still too recent for me to demand an account of this ambiguous conduct; but remember this, I consider myself as now freed from all gratitude towards you."

      "Be it so," answered the young man. "You know me well enough, I suppose, to be convinced that I do not fear; any more than I love you."

      "I know that you are a brave man, señor, and that if the moment were to come for you to face me, you would bear yourself valiantly; but I did not wish to leave you without telling you my intentions, and to warn you to place yourself on your guard."

      "I thank you for that act of courtesy, señor; and I will take advantage of your warning."

      "Now, adieu! Do not try again to cross my path."

      Then striking the pommel of his saddle angrily with his fist, he placed himself at the head of his troop; and after having cried "Forward! Forward!" in a voice of thunder, darted off at a gallop.

      "Aha!" said Emile, "All goes well; the vultures have rushed after the prey. It is a good game to win, to withdraw these two doves from the outstretched talons of these two birds of prey. God helping me, I will try."

      And completely restored to good humour by this soliloquy, the painter entered the tambo.

      The two ladies were half reclining on the skins before a fire lit by the Guarani. Scarcely recovered from the perils and the terrors they had undergone, they remained motionless and silent, their countenances pale, and their eyes half-closed absorbed in their own thoughts, not knowing whether they ought to be glad or sorry at being at last sheltered from danger, and at having escaped the fury of the tempest.

      At the entry of the young painter, a faint smile appeared upon their faces.

      "So," said the marchioness, after a stealthy glance at her daughter, "it is, thanks to your courage, and to your presence of mind, that we have escaped from a frightful death?"

      "I have only been an instrument in the hand of God."

      "This Indian has told me all," said the marchioness, designating Tyro by a gesture. "I know that now Don Pablo Pincheyra, bound by the gratitude which he owes you, would not dare to refuse you anything."

      "Don Pablo was not alone, Madame."

      "In fact, Don Sebastiao Vianna accompanies him, they say."

      The painter smiled slyly.

      "You laugh, Don Emile," she cried.

      "Pardon me, Madame, this overflow of spirits. I will explain myself. Don Sebastiao Vianna was not the name of the man who came to the camp to demand your liberty."

      "Ah!" murmured she; "Is he a man I know?"

      "You know him, certainly; his name is Zeno Cabral."

      "Don Zeno Cabral?" cried she, in a fright; "That man! Oh, then, I am lost!"

      "Reassure yourself, Madame; you are in safety."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Don Pablo has departed, Madame. I have started him off in pursuit of Don

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