While the hunter was speaking, the old man fixed upon him a look which flashed fire from under his half-closed eyelids. When he ceased, the Tigercat smiled ironically.
"The wolf's cub feels he is cutting his teeth, and wants to bite his fosterer."
"He will devour him without hesitation, if it be needful," fiercely replied the hunter, as he let the butt end of the heavy rifle he carried in his hand fall violently on the ground.
Instead of being lashed into a fury by a menace uttered so peremptorily, the Tigercat suddenly became calm. His austere features lighted up with an expression of good nature which rarely visited them. Clapping his large hands together gaily, he exclaimed, with an air of lively satisfaction:
"Well roared, my lion's whelp! ¡Vive Dios! You deserve your name, Stoneheart! The more I see of you, the more I love you. I am proud of you, muchacho; for you are my handiwork, and I congratulate myself on my success in producing so complete a monster. Go on as you have begun, my son: I prophesy, you will go far."
The tone in which these words were pronounced by the Tigercat clearly proved that they were in reality the unreserved expression of his thoughts.
Stoneheart—for at last we know the name of this man—listened to his father with a shrug of his shoulders, and an affectation of disdain. When the latter ceased, the son replied as follows:
"Will you listen to me or not?"
"Certainly, my darling child. Speak! Tell me what frets you."
"Seek not to dupe me, gray-haired demon. I know your hellish malignity, and your unmatchable knavery."