Then feeling his assurance redoubled at the reception he had met with, which though cold and silent as that with which every new-comer is received in the house of death, still gave him courage to say, observing the severe expression on every face:
“Pardon me, gentlemen! I observe you have business in hand, and I am perhaps intruding; I will retire. There are moments when one does not like to be disturbed: I know it by experience.”
Saying these words, Cuchillo showed his intention of crossing a second time the green inclosure of the valley of gold, when Bois-Rose’s rough voice arrested him.
“Stay here, as you value the salvation of your soul, master Cuchillo,” said the hunter.
“The giant may have heard of my intellectual resources,” thought Cuchillo. “They have need of me. After all, I would rather go shares with them than get nothing; but without doubt this Golden Valley is bewitched. You allow, master hunter,” he continued, addressing the Canadian, and feigning a surprise he did not feel at the aspect of his chief, “I have a—”
An imperious gesture from Fabian cut short Cuchillo’s demand.
“Silence!” he said, “do not distract the last thought of a Christian who is about to die.”
We have said that a poignard planted in the ground no longer cast a shadow.
“My lord of Mediana,” added Fabian, “I ask you once again, by the name we bear, by your honour, and the salvation of your soul, are you innocent of my mother’s murder?”
To this lofty interrogation, Don Antonio replied without relaxing his haughty demeanour—