At supper-time, Gringalet did not show any repugnance to the flesh of the armadillo, the taste of which reminded Lucien of sucking-pig.
"Are armadillos very scarce?" he asked; "they are never sold in the market."
"Just the contrary," replied Sumichrast; "they are very common, and the Indians never fail to feast on them when they can procure them."
"What does the name armadillo mean?"
"It is a Paraguayan word, the meaning of which is, 'encased in armor.' The Aztecs call the animal ayotochitl, that is, 'gourd-rabbit'—'rabbit' on account of its ears, and 'gourd' because, when it rolls itself up in a ball, it reminds one of that vegetable."
L'Encuerado had gone to sleep. Lucien soon went into the hut, and I noticed that Sumichrast carefully arranged the leaves which were to form our bed, although he himself lay down anywhere. I was much less inclined for sleep than my companions, and contemplated them all reposing; reflecting on the strange chance which united, under the same shelter, in the midst of the wilderness, persons born of such distinct races and in such different climates. We could all surely depend on one another, for in previous expeditions our mutual friendship had been put to the proof. Seeing how well Lucien bore the fatigue, I rejoiced that I had brought him under the protection of such good guardians. When I entered the hut to seek repose, I disturbed Gringalet, who, before lying down again by his young master, licked his hand: here was another devoted friend—"the dog, which combines all man's better qualities," as Charlet observes.
