The marchioness tendered him her hand.
"I thank you," said she. "Your devotedness never fails."
"And never shall fail, Madame. We have not long to remain here. It is necessary for us to make a last effort, and to compete in strategy with our enemies."
"Have you any plan?"
"Unhappily, no, Madame; but perhaps with the aid of our brave and faithful Tyro, we may concert a plan."
"Let us try, then," responded she, "and lose no time, which is so precious to us."
Tyro re-entered at this moment.
"Well," asked Emile of him. "Has anything fresh happened?"
"No, my friend; Sacatripas, whom I have charged to watch the departure of the Pincheyras, has seen them go at full speed towards the plain. There is no fear of a surprise on the part of Don Zeno; for a considerable distance from here there is only one practicable road, and that is the one on which we are."
"That is to be regretted, indeed; our flight is impossible."
"Mon Dieu!" murmured Doña Eva, clasping her hands with anguish.
"So we are lost," said the marchioness.
"I did not say so, Madame. I am compelled, however, to confess that the situation is extremely critical."
"Let us see, Tyro, my friend; you who know so well these mountains, in the midst of which you have been brought up – seek, invent! As for me, what do I know? Find an expedient which gives us a chance of safety," cried the painter.
"God is my witness, my friend, that my best desire is to see you out of danger," replied he.
"We have no hope but in you, my brave Indian," said Emile.
"Listen, then, since you insist on it; and first, I must tell you, that at a league from here, more or less, there is an almost impracticable path, which is, in fact, only the dry bed of a torrent. This path few persons know, and no one, I am convinced, would venture to follow it, so difficult is it. Scarcely traced on the side of the mountains, it winds through rocks and precipices, and must at the present time be inundated, by reason of the frightful storm which has raged in these parts. This path, however, has this advantage over the other; it very much shortens the passage from here to the plain."
"Up to the present time," interrupted the painter, "I do not see anything but what is very advantageous to us in what you say."
"Patience, my friend, I have not yet finished."
"Finish, then, in mercy's name," cried the Frenchman, with impatience.
"If it were only you and me, my friend," pursued the Guarani, "I should not hesitate."
"Why do you stop short?" asked the young man.
"I understand you," said the marchioness. "What two men can undertake, with a chance of success, would be madness for women to attempt."
The Indian bowed respectfully to the two ladies.
"That is just my idea, señora," said he. "But there are other objections."
"Of what objections do you speak?"
"This path, very little known by the whites, is nevertheless much frequented by Puelche and Pampas Indians, fierce and untamed tribes, into whose hands we should be pretty nearly certain to fall. We should only escape one danger, to fall into another. At all events, it is necessary that these ladies should consent to resume the men's clothing."
"Do not trouble yourself about that," cried the marchioness.
"It would be necessary to march with the greatest prudence, watching, for fear of a surprise."
"And should a surprise happen," quickly interrupted the marchioness, "rather to allow ourselves to be killed, than to become the prey of these men."
"You admirably understand my thoughts, señora," answered the Guarani, respectfully bowing. "I have nothing more to add."
"This project is hazardous, and fraught with difficulties, I am convinced," said the painter; "but, for my part, I see nothing which renders its execution impossible. Let us set out at once, unless," added he, considering, "you think differently from me, Madame la Marquise, and that the dangers which, without doubt, await us on the road appear to you too great; in which case, Madame, I will conform to your wishes."
"As that is the case," nobly replied the marchioness, "a longer discussion becomes useless. Let us set out immediately. Go, then; in a few moments we shall be quite ready to follow you."
"Be it so, Madame," said the painter; "we will obey."
He made a sign to the Guarani to follow him, and both quitted the tambo.
A quarter of an hour, indeed, had not passed, when the ladies came out of the tambo, ready to start.
It was about half past three in the afternoon – an hour rather late to commence a journey, especially in the midst of the mountains, in these wild regions, where storms are so frequent, and changes of weather so rapid. But the fugitives, surrounded by enemies, from whom they had escaped as if by a miracle, had the gravest reasons to take themselves quickly from the spot.
The sky was of a dull blue; the sun, near the horizon, spread profusely its oblique rays on the earth, which it warmed; a light breeze tempered the heat, and agitated the leaves of the trees; black swans rose from the depths of the valleys, and flew rapidly in the direction of the plains, followed by great bald vultures. The evening was magnificent, and seemed to presage the continuance of fine weather.
Notwithstanding the rather perplexed state of mind in which the travellers were, the journey was commenced gaily. They talked, and even joked, forcing themselves to look hopefully to the future. As Tyro had stated, at about a league from the valley, hidden in the midst of a thick wood, they found the commencement of the path.
For any but those long habituated to life in the desert, the aspect of the path would have appeared very encouraging. In fact, the underwood almost wholly obstructed it; a high and tufted grass covered it as with a green carpet.
However, notwithstanding these encouraging signs of complete solitude, the Guarani knew too well the astuteness of his race to be so easily deceived. The deserted appearance of the locality, instead of inspiring him with confidence, led him to redouble his precautions.
"Well, Tyro," the painter asked him, "you have nothing to complain of, I hope? Upon my word, this path is wild."
"Too wild, my friend," answered the Indian, shaking his head. "This disorder is too well managed to be real."
"Oh, oh! And what makes you suppose that, my friend? I see, absolutely, nothing to suspect."
"That is because you do not look above you, my friend. In the desert, and especially in the mountain, a track is marked in the trees, and not on the ground."
"But as to ourselves, It appears to me we simply follow the path."
"And we are wrong, my friend. On our entrance into the wood, we ought only to have advanced from branch to branch on the trees; our horses will betray us. Unhappily, what you and I could do, with some chance of success, the ladies who accompany us could not attempt."
"If what you say is very true, our efforts will only end in retarding our capture."
"Perhaps so, perhaps not, my friend; if God only gives us till tomorrow at noon, we shall probably be saved."
"How is that?"
"Look here; this path goes towards the desert of the Frentones. The Frentones are, especially, enemies of the whites, to whatever country they belong; but they are good and hospitable to travellers. If we succeed in reaching their territory, we shall be comparatively in safety."
"Very good; and you expect to reach this territory tomorrow?"
"No; but we shall find ourselves nearly on the banks of the river Primero, and might set ourselves adrift on a raft."
"Pardieu!" joyously cried the young man, "That is a happy