"I expect so, firmly," said Valentine, bidding good night to the major-domo, who retired, after bowing respectfully.
The cuarto (chamber) in which the young men found themselves, was whitewashed, and entirely destitute of furniture, with the exception of two oak frames furnished with dressed hides, which served as beds, a massive table with twisted feet, and four seats covered with leather. In a corner of the room burned a little green wax light before a badly-engraved print supposed to represent the Virgin.
"Eh!" said Louis, casting a glance around him, "our friends, the Chilians, do not seem to consult comfort much."
"Bah!" Valentine replied, "we have all that we require. A man can sleep soundly anywhere when he is fatigued. This chamber is better than the bivouac we were threatened with."
"You are right. Let us take a little rest then, for we don't know what tomorrow has in reserve for us."
In a quarter of an hour they were both fast asleep. At the moment the Frenchmen went into the house with the major-domo, Don Tadeo came out by another door.
"Well?" Don Gregorio asked, anxiously.
"She is asleep. Her terror is abated," Don Tadeo replied. "The joy she experienced at seeing me, whom she believed dead, brought about a very salutary crisis."
"I am glad to hear it! In that quarter, then, we may be at ease?"
"Completely."