"Trangoil-Lanec does not sell his services, he is repaid when his friends are happy."
"Caramba!" cried Valentine, shaking the hand of the chief with all his might, "you are a worthy man, Trangoil-Lanec—I am proud of being your friend."
Then, turning towards Don Tadeo, he said—"I must bid you farewell, for a time. I confide my brother Louis to your care."
"Why do you leave me?" Don Tadeo asked, warmly.
"I must. I see your heart is breaking, in spite of the incredible efforts you make to appear impassive. I know not the nature of the tie which binds you to the unfortunate girl who has been the victim of an odious crime; but I can see the loss of her is killing you—now, with the assistance of Heaven, I will restore her to you, Don Tadeo; I will, or I will die in the endeavour."
"Don Valentine!" the gentleman exclaimed, strongly moved, "what do you propose to do? your project is wild; I cannot accept such devotion."
"Leave it to me. Caramba! I am a Parisian—that is to say, as obstinate as a mule; and when once an idea, good or bad, has entered into my brain, it has no chance of getting out, I swear to you. I shall only take the time to embrace my poor brother, and set off immediately. Come, chief, let us set ourselves upon the track of the ravishers."
"Let us be gone," said the Ulmen.
Don Tadeo remained for a moment motionless, his eyes fixed upon the young man with a strange expression; a violent conflict appeared to be going on within him; at length nature prevailed, he burst into tears; and, throwing himself into the arms of the Frenchman, he murmured, in a voice choked by grief—
"Valentine! Valentine! restore me my daughter!"