The day was splendidly beautiful; the sun had risen, radiant on the horizon in waves of purple and gold; the morning breeze gently refreshed the atmosphere, and the birds, timidly perched under the foliage, sang with full vigour their joyous songs.
All was joy and happiness in that scene, so calm and majestic, which the hand of man had not yet deformed.
The black slaves, the half-caste hunters, and the Indian soldiers who composed the caravan, felt, spite of themselves, the magnetic influence of that delicious morning, and appeared to have forgotten their past perils and fatigues to care for nothing but the future, which appeared to them so sweet, and so full of seductive promise; it was in laughing, in singing, and in talking gaily among themselves, that they accomplished the rude task of raising the camp.
The marquis alone remained dull and pensive. It was because, scorched by the shameful thirst for gold, his heart concealed a terrible tempest, and remained insensible to the magnificent harmonies of nature which acted so powerfully on the rude but honest organisations of the Indians and Negroes.
However, the horses were saddled, the mules were again loaded, the rolled up tents were placed on a waggon drawn by several oxen. Doña Laura had stepped into her palanquin, which was immediately closed upon her. They only waited the order of the marquis to put themselves en route.
Don Roque was walking apart, absorbed in his thoughts; he appeared to have forgotten that all was ready for the departure, and that the moment had come to effect the descent of the mountain—to enter the desert.
At last the captain ventured to touch him lightly on the arm.
"What do you want with me, Don Diogo?" asked Don Roque, drily.
"My lord," answered he, "we only await your pleasure to commence the journey."
"If it is so, let us set out immediately," answered he, making a movement towards his horse.