The Indian smiled maliciously, but made no reply. He turned away and led the hunter to the fire. In a few seconds Valentine found himself on the skirt of a vast clearing, in the centre of which, by a good fire of dead wood, Doña Angela and her camarista, Violanta, were seated on piles of furze. Ten paces behind the females, several peons, armed to the teeth, leant on their long lances, awaiting the pleasure of their mistress. Doña Angela raised her head at the sound caused by the hunter's approach, and uttered a slight cry of joy.
"There you are at last!" she exclaimed. "I almost despaired of your coming."
"Perhaps it would have been better had I not done so," he answered with a stifled sigh.
The young lady overheard, or pretended not to hear, the hunter's reply.
"Is your encampment far from here?" she continued.
"Before proceeding there," the hunter said, "we must have a little conversation together, señora."
"What have you to say to me that is so interesting, or rather, so urgent?"
"You shall judge for yourself."
The young lady made a gesture signifying her readiness to hear something which she knew beforehand would be disagreeable.
"Speak!" she said.