“The young man slept tranquilly, and his lips softly murmured a name—that of a woman—the same which had lately been revealed to me in his slumber.”
Rosarita’s dark eyes seemed to question the narrator, but her words expired upon her parted lips; she dared not utter the name her heart was whispering in her ears.
“But I encroach upon your time,” continued Gayferos, without appearing to notice the young girl’s agitation. “I draw towards the close of my narrative.
“The young man woke just as day began to dawn. ‘Comrade,’ said the giant to me, ‘go down yonder and count the dead which these dogs have left behind them.’
“Eleven corpses stretched upon the ground,” continued Gayferos, “and two captured horses, attested the victory of these intrepid hunters.”
“Let all due honour be given to these formidable men,” cried Don Augustin, with enthusiasm, whilst his daughter, clapping her little hands together, exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, and an enthusiasm which equalled that of her father—
“That is splendid! that is sublime! so young, and yet so brave.”
Rosarita only lavished her praises upon the young unknown—though perhaps the acute perception which belongs to a woman, and which almost resembles a second sight, may have revealed to her his name.
The narrator seemed to appreciate the praises bestowed upon his friends.
“But did you not learn their names?” asked Doña Rosarita, timidly.