"Shall I see you again?"
"Perhaps."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"And Valentine?"
"He will come."
The Indian, doubtlessly fatigued with having talked so much, contrary to his habits, although the sentences he uttered were of no extraordinary length, slipped down the breastwork again, and said no more. Louis looked after him, and saw him crawl away on his knees, and disappear without producing the slightest sound. The scene had taken place so rapidly, the Indian's flight had been so silent, that the count was on the point of regarding it as an hallucination; but suddenly the hoot of the owl, twice repeated, rose in the air.
This signal had long been agreed on between Valentine and the count. He understood that Curumilla, while warning him that he was safe, sent him from a distance a last recommendation to silence. He tossed his head sadly, and returned to his tent pensively, muttering in a low voice,—
"Another piece of treachery!"