Valentine was brave, active, and vigorous, but he had to contend with a man whom he would never have been able to resist if he had not been weakened by his wounds. The oily body of the Indian presented no hold for the Frenchman, whilst his enemy, on the contrary, had seized him by the cravat. Neither Trangoil-Lanec nor Don Tadeo could render their companion any assistance, occupied as they were in defending themselves against the Aucas.
It was all over with Valentine. Already his ideas began to lose their lucidity, he only resisted mechanically, when he felt the fingers which grasped his neck gradually relax; with a last concentration of rage, he collected all his strength, and succeeded in disengaging himself. But his enemy, far from attacking him, fell backwards—he was dead!
"Ah!" the Linda cried, with an expression impossible to be conveyed, "she is saved!"
And she sank back fainting in the arms of her daughter, clasping tightly in her hand the dagger with which she had pierced Antinahuel to the heart. All eagerly assembled round the unfortunate woman, who, by killing the inveterate enemy of her daughter, had so nobly retrieved her faults.
At length she sighed faintly, opened her eyes, and fixing a dim look upon those who surrounded her, she convulsively seized her daughter and Don Tadeo, drew them towards her, and contemplated them.
"Oh! I was too happy! Both of you had pardoned me; but God decreed that it should not be! Will this terrible death disarm His justice? Pray—pray for me!—that—that—hereafter—we may meet again in heaven!"
She was dead!
"My God!" said Don Tadeo, "have pity on her!"
And he knelt down by the body. His companions piously imitated him.