For they loved Daniel. His superiority was so evident, that none disputed it; they might envy him; but they could never be jealous of him. Some of them thought he had brought back with him from Kamboja the germ of one of those implacable diseases which demoralize the strongest, and which break out suddenly, carrying a man off in a few hours.
“You ought not to become a misanthrope, my dear Champcey,” they would say. “Come, for Heaven’s sake shake off that sadness, which might make an end of you before you are aware of it!”
And jestingly they added,—
“Decidedly, you regret the banks of the Kamboja!”
They thought it a jest: it was the truth. Daniel did regret even the worst days of his mission. At that time his grave responsibility, overwhelming fatigues, hard work, and daily danger, had procured him at least some hours of oblivion. Now idleness left him, without respite or time, face to face with his distressing thoughts. It was the desire, the necessity almost, of escaping in some manner from himself, which made him accept an invitation to join a number of his comrades who wanted to try the charms of a great hunting party.
On the morning of the expedition, however, he had a kind of presentiment.
“A fine opportunity,” he thought, “for the assassin hired by Sarah Brandon!”
Then, shrugging his shoulders, he said with a bitter laugh,—
“How can I hesitate? As if a life like mine was worth the trouble of protecting it against danger!”
When they arrived on the following day on the hunting ground, he, as well as the other hunters, received their instructions, and had their posts assigned them by the leader. He found himself placed between two of his comrades, in front of a thicket, and facing a narrow ravine, through which all the game must necessarily pass as it was driven down by a crowd of Annamites.