"I would swear it, señora," answered the young man. "Concealed in the woods for some time, not only all their words reached my ear distinctly, but even the very play of their faces could not escape me. The manner in which they accosted each other, the first words that they exchanged, convinced me that the chiefs knew very well that they would meet the partisan in that place, and that moreover they were intimately connected with him."
"That man is strange, his conduct is incomprehensible," murmured the marchioness, sorrowfully; "everywhere I find himself on my steps, devoted to my ruin, and, moreover, apparently with power almost without limits. What is to be done?" she added, allowing her head to sink in sadness on her breast.
The marchioness, speaking thus, had rather answered her, secret thoughts than the words of the young man; but feebly as this remark had been made, the painter had heard it.
"Madame," he answered, with an accent of tenderness, veiled by profound grief, "I am but a stranger, thrown by chance on this strange land, without friend or support. But I do not despair—I who have devoted my existence to serve you—I fight continually against your numerous enemies. Why should you not do for yourself what I have tried with all the ardour of sincere devotion? Why should you be disheartened when nothing yet proves that we shall fail in the struggle that we have so long sustained, without having up to the present, time met with a real check? Is not our situation really better than it was when we found ourselves at Tucumán, in the hands of your enemies, or prisoners of the Pincheyras at Casa-Frama? Reflect, Madame, and believe me; do not doubt the power and justice of God. He has taken your cause in hand, and He will save you."
"Will He do so?" sorrowfully murmured the marchioness, as she lowered her head to conceal the tears which, in spite of her, filled her eyes.
"Oh, mother," said Doña Eva with tenderness, furtively grasping her hand, fearing, on account of the costume which she wore, to make any manifestations which might have divulged the fact of her being disguised.
"Alas!" pursued the marchioness with that feverish impatience which wounds those who are misunderstood by those whom they address, "Neither of you understand the real situation in which fate has placed us. Our prison is not the less real because it has no visible bounds it is larger, that is all. In place of being shut up in stone walls, we are held prisoners by the walls that our forests, mountains, and rivers form around us. Our persecutor, certain that it is impossible for us to escape, disdains to show himself to us, or to make us feel the weight of the chain fastened to our bodies; he contents himself with watching us from afar, allowing us an appearance of liberty that he will take from us when he thinks necessary. For a long time his plan has been known to me. I have reckoned up this man; hatred is clairvoyant—nothing can hide it. In a week—tomorrow, or today perhaps—you will see him suddenly rise, like an evil genius, before us; all will then be finished and we shall be ruined."
Emile and the young girl did not try to answer these words, the justice of which, however, struck them. Emile, who never concealed from himself the desperate position of the marchioness, and whom devotion, and another sentiment, perhaps, that he did not dare to avow, alone kept near her, felt the uselessness of common consolations. It was evident to him that no human power could succeed in snatching the two ladies from the pursuit of their enemy, and that, unless by a miracle they would positively be lost.
Meanwhile the enthusiasm of the Guaycurus had become somewhat calm. On the order of the chiefs they were occupying themselves, with their ordinary activity, in the preparations for their departure, and were about to mount their horses to descend to the plains, where they hoped to encamp the same evening.
Soon each one was in the saddle; the word "advance" was given, and the troop left the camp.