The hunter threw his purse to them.
"You dare to defy the lion at bay," the general shouted, gnashing his teeth; "although attacked by dogs, he can still avenge his death."
"You will not die," the hunter said coldly; "throw away that sabre, which is now useless."
"Ah, ah!" Don Sebastian said with a grin of rage; "I am not to die; and why not, pray?"
"Because," he answered, in a cutting voice, "death would be a mercy to you, and you must be punished."
"Oh!" he shrieked, and, blinded by rage, he rushed madly at the hunter.
The latter, without falling back a step, contented himself with giving a signal. At the same moment a slipknot fell on the general's shoulders, and he rolled on the ground with a yell of rage. Curumilla had lassoed him.
In vain did Don Sebastian attempt further resistance; after useless efforts he was reduced to utter impotence, and forced, not only to confess he had been vanquished, but to yield himself to the mercy of his conquerors. The latter, at a sign from Valentine, disarmed him first, and then bound him, so that he could not make the slightest movement.
The massacre was ended, the insurrection had been drowned in blood. The few rebels who survived the carnage were prisoners; the victors, in the first moment of enthusiasm, had shot several, and it required the most energetic interference on the part of the officers to check this rather too summary justice.
At this moment joyous shouts burst forth, and the President of the Republic entered the courtyard at the head of a large staff, glistening with embroidery.