“And did you love him? can you remember that?” inquired the Canadian, while his heart beat with anxiety, as he awaited the answer.
“I am sure I did, he was so kind to me. I can remember he was kind to me.”
A tear stole over the bronzed cheek of the trapper as he listened to these words; and then turning his face once more so that it was hidden from the view of Tiburcio, he murmured to himself—
“Alas, poor Fabian! he too loved me—I know he did.”
Then once more facing round to the fire, he hazarded a last question:
“Do you not remember one circumstance above all? Do you not remember that this man was suddenly separated from you in the midst of a terrible affray—?”
The emotion under which Bois-Rose was suffering hindered him from finishing his interrogatory. His head fell between his knees, and he awaited in trembling the response which Tiburcio might make.
The latter was silent for some seconds, as if endeavouring to arrange the confused thoughts that had suddenly sprung up in his mind.
“Hear me!” said he at length, “you who appear to be a beacon guiding my memories of the past—hear what I can remember at this moment. There was one day of terror and confusion; I saw much blood around me. The ground appeared to tremble—there was thunder or the noise of cannon. I was in great fear within a dark chamber where I had been shut up—a man came to me; it was the big man who loved me—”
Tiburcio paused for an instant, as if to grapple freshly with the vague reminiscences that were endeavouring to escape from him, while the Canadian appeared like one suffering the agony of suspense.