The capataz bowed and went down a walk; the sound of his footsteps rapidly decreased, and was quite inaudible within a few minutes.
"My friends," Valentine then said, "we have now arrived at the moment for the final struggle, which we have so long been preparing. We must not let ourselves be led away by hatred, but act like judges, not as men who are avenging themselves. Blood demands blood, it is true, according to the law of the desert; but, remember, however culpable the man whom we have condemned may be, his death would be an indelible spot, a brand of infamy which would sully our honour."
"But this monster," the Tigrero exclaimed, with a passion the more violent because it was repressed, "is beyond the pale of humanity."
"He may re-enter it to repent."
"Are we priests then to practise forgetfulness of insults?" Don Martial asked with a fiendish grin.
"No, my friend, there are men in the grand and sublime acceptation of the term; men who have often been faulty themselves, and who, rendered better by the life of struggling they have led, and the grief which has frequently bowed them beneath its iron yoke, inflict a chastisement, but despise vengeance, which they leave to weak and pusillanimous minds. Who of you, my friends, would dare to say that he has suffered more than I? To Him alone will I concede the right of imposing his will on me, and what He bids me do I will do."
"Forgive me, my friend," the Tigrero answered, "you are ever good, ever great. God, in imposing on you a heavy task, endowed you at the same time with an energetic soul, and a heart which seems to expand in your bosom under the blast of adversity, instead of withering. We, however, are but common men, in whom the sanguinary instinct of the savage is constantly revealed in spite of all our efforts, and who know no other law save that of retaliation. Forget the senseless words my lips uttered, and be assured that I will ever joyfully obey you, whatever you may command, persuaded as I am, that you can only ask the man who has utterly placed himself in your power to do just actions."
The hunter, while his friend was speaking thus in a voice broken by emotion, had let his head fall on his hands, and seemed absorbed in gloomy and painful thought.
"I have nothing to forgive you, my friend," he replied in a gentle, sympathizing voice, "for through my own sufferings I can understand what yours are. I, too, often feel my heart bound with wrath and indignation; for, believe me, my friend, I have a constant struggle to wage against myself, not to let myself be led away to make a vengeance of what must only be a punishment. But enough on this head; time presses, and we must arrange our plans, so as not to be foiled by our enemies. I went today to the palace, where I had a secret conversation with the President of the Republic, whom, as you are aware, I have known for many years, and who honours me with a friendship of which I am far from believing myself worthy. At the end of our interview he handed me a paper, a species of blank signature, by the aid of which I can do what I think advisable for the success of our plans."
"Did you obtain such a paper?"