"But it will hurt you with its sting."
"It has no sting; there is no danger to be feared from its tongue. Here, you take hold of it."
The boy hesitated at first, but gradually growing bolder, allowed the snake to wind round his arm. When close by the fire, he held it out to l'Encuerado, who shrank back; for he fully believed all reptiles to be venomous. Lucien in vain urged him to handle it.
"I shan't mind touching it," he said, "when you have told me the words you say to make yourself invulnerable."
"I am no more invulnerable than you are," replied Lucien, smiling. "This snake is quite harmless, and I should never touch one without taking papa's advice, even if it exactly resembled this."
"And you didn't repeat any words?"
"No; papa had it in his hands, and it coiled round his arm."
"I understand, then," murmured the Indian; "it is the serpent that is charmed."
Gringalet, quite as mistrustful as l'Encuerado, ran off directly he saw the reptile move. I told Lucien to let the snake go, and the Indian unsheathed his cutlass; but I would not allow him to injure the poor creature.
Our new cook was perfect master of his art. He supplied us with some excellent maize broth, roasted pigeons, and then a rice-cake—certainly rather shapeless, but of a delicious flavor. The cherries completed this regal bill of fare, and the "calumet of peace" was associated with a cup of coffee. At nightfall, Sumichrast, avoiding Lucien's questions, went slyly to rest, an example I was not slow in following—the weight of the basket having fatigued me more than my pride allowed me to confess.