"Let us see, Tyro, my friend; you who know so well these mountains, in the midst of which you have been brought up—seek, invent! As for me, what do I know? Find an expedient which gives us a chance of safety," cried the painter.
"God is my witness, my friend, that my best desire is to see you out of danger," replied he.
"We have no hope but in you, my brave Indian," said Emile.
"Listen, then, since you insist on it; and first, I must tell you, that at a league from here, more or less, there is an almost impracticable path, which is, in fact, only the dry bed of a torrent. This path few persons know, and no one, I am convinced, would venture to follow it, so difficult is it. Scarcely traced on the side of the mountains, it winds through rocks and precipices, and must at the present time be inundated, by reason of the frightful storm which has raged in these parts. This path, however, has this advantage over the other; it very much shortens the passage from here to the plain."
"Up to the present time," interrupted the painter, "I do not see anything but what is very advantageous to us in what you say."
"Patience, my friend, I have not yet finished."
"Finish, then, in mercy's name," cried the Frenchman, with impatience.
"If it were only you and me, my friend," pursued the Guarani, "I should not hesitate."
"Why do you stop short?" asked the young man.
"I understand you," said the marchioness. "What two men can undertake, with a chance of success, would be madness for women to attempt."