“Yes, that is the name, monsieur. I know it now, because Mademoiselle was very beautiful, and when we landed from the Gloire I asked my mother how she was called.”
“And you saw them no more after that?” We leaned forward breathlessly to get the boy’s reply.
“Monsieur, I was wild with fear,” he said, flushing red in shame. “My mother had been killed before my eyes and two Spaniards had pursued me to the breach in the wall. I fled to the forest, passing these women in my flight. I ran on and on until I dropped exhausted in the thicket.”
“You have not seen them since?”
“In the head village of the Indians?” he asked wide-eyed with surprise. “No, monsieur! They could not have been in the village of Satouriona or I should have known.”
He spoke with an air of conviction which drove away doubt from the mind.
But De Brésac pursued his questions undeterred.
“There is a village called Tacatacourou, is it not so?”
“Oui, monsieur.”