"These grand airs do not impress me," cried Croustillac. "I am not one of those to be eaten alive!"
No answer.
"Zounds!" continued the chevalier; "do you not know, stupid cannibal that you are, I can make you take an involuntary bath in the lake as a means to teach you manners, and in order to civilize you, you savage?"
Youmäale arose gravely, threw a disdainful glance at the chevalier, then pointed at an enormous trunk of a mahogany tree with gnarled roots which formed the rustic bench upon which he had been sitting.
"Well, what of it?" said the chevalier. "I see that trunk, but I do not understand your gesture, unless it signifies that you are as deaf and dumb and as stupid as that tree."
Without responding to this, the Caribbean stooped, took the trunk of the tree in his muscular arms, and threw it into the lake with a significant gesture, which seemed to say, "That is how I could treat you." Then he slowly withdrew, without having revealed in his features the slightest emotion.
The chevalier was stupefied by this proof of extraordinary strength; for the block of mahogany tree appeared to him, and in fact was, so heavy that two men could with difficulty have accomplished what the Caribbean unaided had done. His surprise having passed, the chevalier hastened after the savage, exclaiming, "Do you mean to say that you would have thrown me into the lake as you threw that trunk?"
The Caribbean, without pausing in his passage, bent his head affirmatively.
"After all," thought Croustillac, halting, "this eater of missionaries is not lacking in good sense; I threatened him first with throwing him into the water, and after what I have seen I am obliged to confess that I should have found it hard to do so, and then it would have been rather a dishonorable way in which to dispose of a rival! Ah, the evening is slow in coming. Thank God! the sun is setting, the night will soon fall; the moon will rise and I shall know my fate; the widow will tell me everything, I shall unravel all the profound mystery which is hidden from me now. Let me think over the sonnet which I have reserved for a grand effect—it is intended to describe the beauty of her eyes. Perhaps she has never heard a sonnet—possibly she will be sensible of its beauty and spirit; but no, I cannot hope for that happiness."
Pacing the path with long strides, Croustillac began to declaim his verses: