A flush of pleasure lit up the poor old lady's face, and for a moment she looked happy.
"Bless you, my son," she said. "You render me very happy by granting what I ask."
"Well," he said, with a stifled sigh, "it is you who wish it, mother: your will be done, and may Heaven not punish me for having obeyed you. Now it is my turn to ask; as henceforth the care of your health concerns me alone."
"What do you want?" she said, with an ineffable smile.
"I wish you to take a few hours' indispensable rest, after your fatigues of the day."
"And you, dear child?"
"I shall sleep too, mother; for if today has been fatiguing, tomorrow will be equally so; so rest in peace, and feel no anxiety on my account."
Madame Guillois tenderly embraced her son, and threw herself on the bed prepared for her by Sunbeam's care. Valentine then left the calli, and rejoined his friends, who were reposing round a fire lit by Curumilla. Carefully wrapping himself in his buffalo robe he laid on the ground, closed his eyes, and sought sleep—that great consoler of the afflicted, who often call it in vain for a long time ere it deigns to come for a few hours, and enable them to forget their sorrows. He was aroused, towards daybreak, by a hand being softly laid on his shoulder, and a voice timidly murmuring his name. The hunter opened his eyes, and sat up quickly.
"Who goes there?" he said.
"I! White Gazelle."