And he burst into such a hearty fit of laughter, that the Indian chiefs, notwithstanding their habitual self-control, could not repress a gesture of astonishment. They thought that fright had driven away the senses of the Frenchman.
But Emile had never been more master of himself; his mind had never been clearer, or his coolness greater; but Frenchman, and above all Parisian as he was, the devil-me-care spirit of the gamin had become paramount, and he would not play the game of life and death without risking a last joke.
While speaking thus he had coolly raised his pistols, and at the moment when the lion was nerving himself to spring upon him, he fired.
The animal bounded from the spot, uttering a terrible howl, and fell dead.
"Upon my word," said the painter, laughing, "I thought it was more difficult than that; the lion seems to me to have gained a false reputation, or else he must have considerably degenerated; no matter, it is very diverting sport."
After this soliloquy, he hastened towards Zeno Cabral, near whom were the two chiefs.
The former had regained consciousness, and assisted by his friends he attempted to stand up—ashamed, bold and expert sportsman as he was, that he had been so rudely overcome by a wild beast.
On seeing the young man, who held out his hand to him smiling, an expression of gratitude illumined his manly countenance.
"Don Emile," said he, with deep emotion, "once more I owe you my life; I shall never be able to pay my debt."
"Perhaps, señor," answered the young man significantly.