"MADAM,
"I have received your father's answer: it is favourable. Tomorrow, in all probability, the ceremony of our marriage will take place. I watch over you and myself.
"The Count de PRÉBOIS CRANCÉ."
After sending off this note the count wrapped himself in a cloak, and went out to visit the posts, and assure himself that the sentries were keeping good guard. The night was bright and clear; the sky studded with an infinite number of brilliant stars; the atmosphere perfumed with a thousand sweet odours; at intervals the strains of the guitars, borne on the breeze, rose from the pueblo, and died out at the count's ear. The camp was silent and gloomy; the adventurers, who had retired under their leafy jacales, were enjoying that rest so necessary after a day's march; the horses, hobbled pell-mell with the mules, were devouring their alfalfa; the sentries, with shouldered muskets, were walking slowly around the intrenchments with their eyes fixed on the plain.
The count, after walking about for some time, and convincing himself that everything was in the most perfect order, was induced by the melancholy and mysterious softness of the night, to lean on the breastwork; and, with his eye fixed on vacancy, not looking at or probably seeing anything, he gradually gave way to his dreams, yielding unconsciously to the mysterious influence of the objects that surrounded him. From time to time, as the sentries called to each other, he mechanically raised his head; then he would yield again to the flood of thought that fell on him, and was so absorbed in himself that he seemed to be asleep; but it was not so.
For several hours he had been thus leaning over the breastwork, without a thought of retiring, when he suddenly felt a hand lightly laid on his shoulder. This touch, light as it was, sufficed to recall him from the ideal worlds in which his imagination was galloping, and to a consciousness of his present situation. The count stifled a cry of surprise and turned round. A man was holding on to the outside of the breastwork, his head scarce emerging over the top. It was Curumilla.
The chief had a finger laid on his lips, as if to recommend prudence to the count. The latter made a sign of pleasure on recognising the Indian, and quickly bent down to him.
"Well?" he said with his mouth to his ear.
"You will be attacked tomorrow."
"You are sure of it?"
The Indian smiled.
"Yes," he said.