The council broke up; the chiefs retired to the tents erected for them by their squaws, and soon fell asleep. The majordomo alone did not think of rest; he proceeded at a rapid pace to the spot where the prisoners were. On reaching the wickerwork which formed the door, the Indian hesitated for a moment, but, surmounting the emotion which contracted his brow, he violently opened the door, and walked in. The two ladies were sadly seated by a smouldering fire, with their heads bowed on their chests; at the noise produced by the chief's entrance, they quickly raised their heads, stifling a cry of surprise and terror. The Indian looked at them for a moment with an undefinable expression.
"I frighten you," he said, in a low guttural voice, as he smiled.
"No," Doña Emilia answered, "your presence does not terrify us, it merely excites disgust."
The chief frowned angrily, but checked himself.
"It is dangerous," he said, "to rouse the lion when you are in his power."
"The lion?" she continued, disdainfully; "You mean the coyote. The lion is brave, his character is noble, and he only attacks enemies worthy of his fury."
"Very good, I am a coyote," he continued with perfect calmness, "insult is permissible to persons who are about to die."
"Die?" Doña Diana exclaimed, with an outburst of joy that confounded the Indian. "Oh, thanks, señor; this is the first time you have brought me good news. When are we to die?"
"Tomorrow," he replied, in a hollow voice. There was a mournful silence, and then the majordomo continued—
"You seem very weary of life?"