The hacendero greeted the offer with greater pleasure, for, being but little accustomed to this mode of travelling, he felt extremely fatigued. After a frugal meal, composed of maize tortillas, and frijoles powdered with the hottest spices, and washed down with pulque, Don Sylva, without even thinking of smoking a cigarette (his custom always after a meal), wrapped himself in his zarapé, laid down with his feet toward the fire, and fell off almost immediately into a profound sleep.
Don Martial and the young girl remained for some time silently opposite each other, their eyes fixed on the hacendero, and uneasily watching the phases of his sleep. At length, when the Tigrero was persuaded that Don Sylva was really asleep, he bent over her, and muttered in her ear in a gentle voice:—
"Pardon, Doña Anita, pardon!"
"For what?" she asked in surprise.
"Because you are suffering through me."
"Egotist!" she said with an enchanting smile, "it is not through myself too, as I love you?"
"Oh, thank you!" he exclaimed. "You restore to my heart that courage which I felt dying out. Alas! How will all this end?"
"Well, I am convinced," she said quickly. "We must be patient. My father believe me, will soon change his opinion about you."
The Tigrero smiled sorrowfully.
"Still," he said, "I cannot carry you about the prairie indefinitely."