"I am here; it was impossible to arrive sooner; my mother is free, I suppose?"
"She is free."
"She may go where she pleases?"
"Where she pleases."
"No," said the prisoner, placing herself resolutely in front of the Indian chief, "it is too late, it is I who am to suffer; my son has no right to take my place."
"Dear mother, what are you saying?"
"That which is just," she replied with animation; "the time at which you were to have come is past, you have no right to be here to prevent my death. Begone, begone, Rafaël, I implore you!—Leave me to die to save you," she added, bursting into tears and throwing herself into his arms.
"My mother," the young man replied, returning her caresses, "your love for me misleads you; I cannot allow such a crime to be accomplished, I alone ought to be here."
"My God! my God!" the poor mother exclaimed, sobbing, "he will not understand anything! I should be so happy to die for him."
Overcome by emotions too powerful for nature, the poor mother sunk fainting into the arms of her son.