After a frugal repast, the travellers were preparing to take a little repose, when Cæsar barked furiously. Everyone flew to his arms. At length the noise of steps was heard, the bushes were thrust apart, and an Indian appeared. It was Antinahuel. At the sight of this man, Rosario could not repress a cry of terror. Her mother threw herself before her.

Antinahuel did not appear to perceive the presence of the young lady or of the Linda; he advanced slowly, without moving a muscle of his face. When within a few paces of Trangoil-Lanec, he stopped and saluted him.

"I come to sit at the fireside of my brother," he said.

"My brother is welcome," the chief replied.

"No, I only wish to smoke with my brother, for the sake of communicating to him some important news."

"It shall be as my brother desires," Trangoil-Lanec replied.

The three Indians sat down with the ceremony usual upon such occasions. They lit their pipes, and smoked silently. At length, after a considerable time, Antinahuel began —

"Here," said he, "is the quipu, which the herald who came from Paki-Pulli handed at about the seventh hour to me, Antinahuel, the son of the Black Jackal."

He drew from under his poncho a light piece of wood, about ten inches long, very thick split, and holding a human finger.

"My brother sees," Antinahuel continued, "that upon the black wool there are four knots, to indicate that the herald left Paki-Pulli four days after the moon; upon the white there are ten knots, which signify that ten days after that period, that is to say, in three days, the four confederated Uthal-mapus will take up arms, as has been agreed in a grand auca-coyog convoked by the Toquis; upon the red I have made a knot, which means that the warriors placed under my orders will join the expedition, and that the chiefs may depend upon my concurrence. Will my brothers follow my example?"

"My brother has forgotten to tell me one thing," Trangoil-Lanec replied.

"Let my brother explain himself," said Antinahuel.

"Against whom is this expedition?"

"Against the palefaces," he said, with a tone of mortal hatred.

"Very well," said Trangoil-Lanec, "my brother is a powerful chief, he will give me the quipu."

Antinahuel handed it to him. The Araucano warrior received the quipu, examined it, seized the red fringe and the blue fringe, he joined them, made a knot over them, and passed the piece of wood to Curumilla, who followed his example.

"My brothers, then," he said, "refuse their aid?"

"The chiefs of the four nations can do without us. The war is ended, and this quipu is false. Why, when we came here, instead of presenting us this false quipu, did not Antinahuel tell us frankly that he came in search of his white prisoners, who have escaped? We would have replied to him that these prisoners are henceforward under our protection."

"Is that your resolution," said Antinahuel.

"Yes; and my brother may be assured that we are not men to be easily deceived."

The Toqui rose with rage in his heart.

"You are dogs and old women!" he said; "tomorrow I will come to retake my prisoners."

The two Indians smiled contemptuously, and bowed gravely as a parting salute to their enemy. The Toqui disdained to reply to this ironical courtesy; he turned his back, and re-entered the wood with the same slow, solemn step with which he had arrived, appearing to set his adversaries at defiance. He had scarcely quitted the little camp, when Trangoil-Lanec set off in his track.

Trangoil-Lanec was not long absent; he returned in less than an hour. His companions saw him return with the greatest joy.

"Let my brothers open their ears," he said.

"We are listening, depend upon it," Valentine remarked.

"Antinahuel is encamped within a short distance; he knows now that we are not strong enough to contend with him. What will my brothers do? Our position is a serious one."

"Why did we not kill him?" Linda cried.

"No," he replied; "the Indian law prevented me; he presented himself as a friend at my fireside; a guest is sacred."

"What is done cannot be undone," said Valentine; "so it is of no use talking about it. We are in a scrape."

"We will die sooner than allow the wretch to take his prisoners again," said the count.

"That of course; but before we have recourse to that extreme measure, we might find another."

"But, perhaps, we ought not to abandon ourselves to despondendency," Valentine rejoined, energetically; "we are four men of courage; we ought not to despair."

Since Don Tadeo had recovered his daughter, he was no longer the same man; he seemed only to live for her and through her. At that moment, seated at the foot of a tree, he held Rosario on his knees, and was rocking her like an infant. But, at Valentine's question, he raised his head quickly.

"I will not have my daughter fall again into the hands of Antinahuel," he said, loudly; "happen what may, I will save her."

"We are all willing to do that, only the Indian chiefs are not acquainted with the country; you, who are a Chilian, perhaps can give us some useful information."

Don Tadeo reflected for an instant; he cast an inquiring glance round upon the mountains, and then said:

"Those means I can furnish you with; we cannot be more than ten leagues from one of my haciendas."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Yes, thank Heaven!"

"To be sure we are not!" the Linda cried, joyfully.

"And you believe that if we could reach that hacienda – "

"We shall be safe," Don Tadeo interrupted; "for I have there five hundred devoted peons."

"Oh!" said the Linda, "do not lose an instant. Don Tadeo; write a word to your major-domo; tell him what a desperate situation you are in, and order him to hasten to your assistance."

"It is Heaven that inspires you, señora!" Don Tadeo cried.

"Oh!" the Linda replied, "it is because I would save my daughter!"

Doña Rosario fixed upon her eyes moist with tears, and said, in a voice tremulous with tenderness:

"Thank you, my mother!"

Her daughter had pardoned her! The poor woman fell upon her knees on the ground and clasped her hands.

In the meantime, Don Tadeo had written a few words in haste.

"We have no time to read the note now; someone must go at once," said the count; "I undertake to convey it, only point me out the road."

"I know it," said Curumilla phlegmatically.

"Very well, in that case you shall accompany me."

"Ooch! I know a road by which we can be there in less than two hours."

"Let us begone, then."

"Watch over her!" said Louis.

"Bring back assistance quickly," Valentine replied.

"I will, or die in the attempt," replied the other.

And, clapping spurs to their horses, the two men were soon lost in a cloud of dust. Valentine looked after his foster brother as long as he was to be seen, then turning toward Trangoil-Lanec, said;

"And we must start directly?"

"Everything is ready," the chief replied.

"Now," Valentine said to Don Tadeo, "our fate is in the hands of God: we have done everything it was humanly possible to do to escape capture or death; upon His will now depends our safety."

"Valentine! Valentine!" Don Tadeo cried, warmly, "you are as devout as you are intelligent. God will not abandon us."

"I trust He will hear you!" the young man said, in a melancholy tone.

"Courage, my daughter!" said the Linda, with an expression of infinite tenderness.

"Oh! I fear nothing now," Rosario replied, with a cheerful smile; "have I not my father near me, and – my mother, too," she added, kindly.

The Linda raised her eyes, humid with gratitude, towards Heaven.

Within ten minutes they were all mounted, and quitting the wood, they followed at a sharp trot the road which the count and Curumilla had taken at full speed.

CHAPTER XLIII.
THE ROCK

But when setting forward so hastily, Valentine had considered the peril of the situation more than the possibility of travelling far at a quick pace. At the end of a very few miles the horses, overridden for two days together, and exceedingly weakened by the hurricane, could scarcely be kept going; whip and spur were obliged to be constantly applied to keep them on their legs. At length, after an hour spent in fruitless efforts. Don Tadeo, whose horse, a noble, well-bred animal had just stumbled twice from sheer weakness, was the first to call Valentines attention to the impossibility of going farther at present.

"I know it – I feel it!" the young man replied; "the poor animals are foundered; but what can we do? We must kill them, if it be necessary!"

"Let us proceed, then, whatever may happen!" said Don Tadeo.

"Besides," the young man continued, "a minute gained is an age for us; by break of day Louis may be back. If our horses had been rested, we might have reached the hacienda tonight; only the farther we get the better the chance of escaping those who are pursuing us. But, your pardon, Don Tadeo, the Indian chief is making me a sign."

After leaving Don Tadeo, he drew nearer to the Ulmen.

"Well, chief?" he asked.

"Does my brother reckon upon being able to go much farther?" said the Indian.

"Pardieu! chief, you have put exactly the same question to me that Don Tadeo has."

"What does the great chief say?"

"Why, he says that our horses are completely knocked up."

"Ooch! and what does my brother with the golden hair mean to do?"

"How can I tell? Let Trangoil-Lanec advise me; he is a warrior, renowned in his tribe."

"I think I have a good idea."

"Pray let us have it, chief; your ideas are always excellent."

The Indian bowed modestly.

"Let my brother listen to me," he said. "Perhaps Antinahuel is already on our track; if he is not, it will not be long before he is. If he comes up with us we shall be killed. What can three men do against sixty? But not far distant from hence I know a place where we can easily defend ourselves. Many moons ago, ten warriors of my tribe and myself stood our ground at that place for fourteen whole days against two hundred palefaces. Does my brother understand?"

"Perfectly, perfectly, chief! Guide us to this place; and if it please God that we reach it, I swear that Antinahuel and his mosotones shall find somebody to answer them."

Trangoil-Lanec then took the guidance of the little troop, and led them slightly aside from the road. In the interior of South America what we in Europe agree to call roads do not exist; but there are instead an infinite number of paths traced by wild animals, which all finish, after numberless meanderings, by leading to rivulets or rivers, which for ages have served as drinking places to the beasts of the desert.

The Indians alone possess the secret of directing their course with certainty in these apparently inextricable labyrinths; so after a march of twenty minutes our travellers found themselves, without knowing how, on the banks of a charming river. In the centre of which arose an enormous block of granite.

Valentine uttered a cry of joy at sight of this natural fortress. The horses, as if they understood that they had at length arrived at a place of safety, entered the water willingly. This block of granite was hollow. By a gentle ascent it was easy to mount to the summit, which formed a platform of more than forty square feet. The horses were concealed in a corner of the grotto, where they seemed glad to lie down. Valentine did his best to barricade the entrance to the fortress. This being done, a fire was lighted.

Cæsar had of his own accord posted himself on the platform – a vigilant sentinel. The Frenchman kept awake, whilst his companions, yielding to fatigue, slept soundly.

"I will go and take a little rest," Valentine said to Trangoil-Lanec, who awoke, casting an anxious look around him; "the night is over."

"Silence!" the chief murmured.

The two men listened: a stifled growl fell upon their ears.

"That is my dog! – it is Cæsar warning us!" the young man cried.

He and the chief sprang simultaneously to the platform. In vain he looked around on all sides, nothing appeared, the same tranquillity seemed to reign around them. Nothing denoted movement but the high grass on the banks of the river, which waved gently, as if bent by the breeze. Valentine, for a minute, thought his dog was deceived, and was preparing to descend, when he suddenly seized him by the middle and forced him to lie flat upon the platform, while several shots resounded, half a score balls came hissing to be flattened against the rock, and a number of arrows flew over the platform – a second more, and Valentine would have been killed.

This attack was succeeded by a horrible yelling which was repeated by the echoes of the two banks. This was the war cry of the Aucas, who, to the number of more than forty, appeared upon the shore. Valentine and the chief discharged their guns almost at hazard among the crowd. Two men fell, and the Indians suddenly disappeared among the thick bushes and high grass. The silence, for an instance disturbed, was restored so promptly, that if the bodies of the two Indians had not remained stretched upon the sand, the scene might have passed for a dream. The young man took advantage of the minutes respite afforded by the enemy to descend into the grotto. At the noise of the fusillade and of the cry of the Indians, Doña Rosario had started from her sleep in great terror. Seeing her father seize his gun to mount to the platform, she threw herself into his arms, imploring him not to leave her.

"Father! father!" she cried, "pray do not leave me alone, or let me follow you! Here I should become mad with terror!"

"My daughter," Don Tadeo replied, "your mother will remain with you, I must join your friends; would you wish that I should abandon them in such circumstances? It is my cause they are defending; my place is with them! Come! Courage, my darling Rosario, time is precious!"

The young girl sank helplessly on the ground.

"That is true!" she said; "Pardon me, my father."

For her part, without speaking a word, the Linda had drawn her dagger, and placed herself at the entrance of the grotto. At this moment Valentine appeared.

"Thanks, Don Tadeo," he said, "but we can dispense with your presence above. The Black Serpents will, no doubt, attempt to cross the river and gain entrance to the grotto, of which they certainly know the existence. Remain here, then, if you please, and watch their movements carefully."

Valentine had calculated rightly. The Indians perceiving the inutility of firing at a block of granite against which their balls were flattened, changed their tactics. They divided themselves into two bands, one of which kept firing; whilst the other, led by Antinahuel, ascended the course of the river. When they arrived at a certain distance, the Indians hastily constructed rafts, upon which they allowed themselves to float upon the stream straight toward the rock. Valentine and his companions, knowing that they had nothing to fear from those who kept firing at the rock from the bank, descended to the grotto.

The young man's first care was to place Doña Rosario in safety. This duty performed, he took his post with his companions. A raft, mounted by seven Indians, tossed about violently by the current, all at once was dashed against the rock, and the Indians, howling their war cry, sprang off, brandishing their arms; but the three men, with the Linda, who insisted upon joining them, threw themselves upon them, and, before they had secured their footing, beat them down with the stocks of their guns, and cast back their bodies into the river.

But scarcely had they got rid of these when two other rafts came down, followed almost immediately by a third and a fourth, carrying at least thirty men in the whole. For an instant the mêlée was terrible in that confined spot, where they fought man to man, foot to foot. The Linda, trembling for her daughter, with her hair streaming and her eyes flashing, defended herself like a lioness, powerfully seconded by her three companions, who performed prodigies of valour. But, overpowered by numbers, the besieged men were at length obliged to give ground.

A minutes truce ensued, during which the Auras counted their numbers. Six of them were stretched dead. On the side of the besieged, Valentine had received a cut from a hatchet on the head; but as he had seen it coming, and had moved promptly on one side, it was not a deep wound. Trangoil-Lanec's left arm was severely wounded. Don Tadeo and the Linda were unhurt.

Valentine cast a painful glance towards the spot which served as a shelter for Rosario, and then thought of nothing but nobly sacrificing his life. He was the first to recommence the fight. Suddenly a violent fusillade was heard.

"Courage," Valentine shouted – "courage! – here are our friends!"

Followed by his companions, a second time he scaled the barricade, and threw himself into the mêlée. All at once a cry for help of the most heart-rending agony resounded from the grotto. The Linda turned round, and uttering a shriek more like the roar of a wild beast than the cry of a woman, threw herself upon Antinahuel, in whose arms Rosario was struggling. Antinahuel, surprised by this unexpected attack, left his hold of the young girl, and recognised the Linda.

"Stand back!" he said, in a deep guttural voice.

But the Linda, without replying, sprang headlong upon him, and plunged her dagger into his chest.

"Die, she wolf!" he howled.

The Linda fell.

"My mother – oh, my mother!" Rosario cried, in agony, kneeling down close to her, and covering her with kisses. The chief stooped to seize the young girl again, but then a new adversary stood firmly before him; it was Valentine. The Toqui rushed upon the Frenchman.

Valentine was brave, active, and vigorous, but he had to contend with a man whom he would never have been able to resist if he had not been weakened by his wounds. The oily body of the Indian presented no hold for the Frenchman, whilst his enemy, on the contrary, had seized him by the cravat. Neither Trangoil-Lanec nor Don Tadeo could render their companion any assistance, occupied as they were in defending themselves against the Aucas.

It was all over with Valentine. Already his ideas began to lose their lucidity, he only resisted mechanically, when he felt the fingers which grasped his neck gradually relax; with a last concentration of rage, he collected all his strength, and succeeded in disengaging himself. But his enemy, far from attacking him, fell backwards – he was dead!

"Ah!" the Linda cried, with an expression impossible to be conveyed, "she is saved!"

And she sank back fainting in the arms of her daughter, clasping tightly in her hand the dagger with which she had pierced Antinahuel to the heart. All eagerly assembled round the unfortunate woman, who, by killing the inveterate enemy of her daughter, had so nobly retrieved her faults.

At length she sighed faintly, opened her eyes, and fixing a dim look upon those who surrounded her, she convulsively seized her daughter and Don Tadeo, drew them towards her, and contemplated them.

"Oh! I was too happy! Both of you had pardoned me; but God decreed that it should not be! Will this terrible death disarm His justice? Pray – pray for me! – that – that – hereafter – we may meet again in heaven!"

She was dead!

"My God!" said Don Tadeo, "have pity on her!"

And he knelt down by the body. His companions piously imitated him.

CHAPTER XLIV.
CÆSAR

A month after the events we have related, two men, seated side by side in a clump of nopals, were conversing earnestly whilst admiring a magnificent sunrise. These two men were Valentine Guillois and the Count de Prébois-Crancé. The Frenchmen were watching this reawakening of nature.

The count, rendered uneasy by the obstinate silence which Valentine preserved, at length spoke.

"When you awoke me an hour ago," he said, "you brought me hither, in order, as you said, that we might talk at our ease, and I followed you without an observation. Well, we have been seated in this grove for twenty minutes, and you have not even begun to explain yourself; your silence makes me very uneasy, brother, and I do not know what to attribute it to. Have you any ill news to announce to me?"

Valentine raised his head quickly.

"Pardon me, Louis," he replied, "I have no ill news to announce to you, but the hour for a thorough explanation between us has arrived."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You will soon understand me. When, about a year ago, reduced to despair, and resolved to take refuge in death, you summoned me to your apartments in the Champs-Élysées, I pledged myself, if you would consent to live, to restore you that which you had lost, not by your own fault, but through your inexperience; you placed faith in me; you unhesitatingly abandoned France, you bade farewell for ever to the life of a gentleman, and you resolutely accompanied me to America. Now it is for me to perform, in my turn, the promise made you – "

"Valentine!"

"Listen to me; you love Doña Rosario, and I am certain that on her part she feels for you a true and profound affection; the services we have rendered her father, authorise us to have an explanation with him, which I am convinced he expects, and the result of which must render you happy for ever. This explanation, which I would not risk without speaking to you first, I will have this morning, and speak frankly to Don Tadeo."

A melancholy smile flitted across the young man's lips, and he let his head sink on his breast without replying.

"What is the matter with you?" Valentine cried anxiously; "Why is it that this determination, which is to fulfil all your wishes, plunges you into such grief? Explain yourself, Louis!"

"What good will it do to explain myself? Why should we speak today to Don Tadeo? What hurry is there?" the young man remarked evasively.

Valentine shook his head, looking at him with astonishment; he could not comprehend his friend's conduct at all; he, however, determined to drive him into his last entrenchments.

"Well, this is the reason why: I wish to assure your happiness as soon as possible," he said. "The life I have been leading for a month past in this hacienda is oppressive to me. Since my arrival in America my character has changed: the sight of great forests, lofty mountains, in short, of all the sublime magnificence which God has spread with a bountiful hand in the desert, has developed the instincts of a traveller, the germ of which I carried at the bottom of my heart; the constantly recurring changes of the adventurous life which I have led for some time, cause me to experience pleasures without bounds: in a word, I have become a passionate wood ranger, and I pant for the moment when I shall be permitted to resume my aimless rambles in the desert."

A silence of some minutes ensued.

"Yes," the count murmured at length, "that life is indeed full of charms – "

"That is why I am so eager to launch again into these scenes of excitement."

"What prevents our resuming them?"

"What! why you, pardieu!"

"You are mistaken, brother. I am weary as you can be of the life we are leading; we will depart as soon as you please."

"That is not my meaning; be frank with me: it is impossible that the ardent love you felt for Doña Rosario could have evaporated thus all at once."

"What makes you think I do not love her?"

"Come! – come!" Valentine replied, "let us have an end of all this; if you love Doña Rosario, why do you want to leave this place, and why do you refuse to marry her?"

"It is not I who refuse," the young man murmured with a sigh, "it is she!"

"She! no – no! come! that is not possible!"

"Brother, a long time ago, the very next day after the night when at Santiago we delivered her from the hands of the bandits who were carrying her off, she herself told me that we never could be united. She ordered me to avoid her presence, and demanded my word of honour that I would never seek to see her again. Why, then, should I lull myself with a wild chimera! You see, brother, I have no hope left."

"Perhaps! – but so many things have taken place since that period that the intentions of Doña Rosario may have changed."

"No," the count replied, despondingly.

"What makes you suppose so?"

"Her coolness – her indifference to me; the care she takes to avoid me; everything, in short, proves that I have remained here too long, and that I ought to leave her dangerous society."

"Why do not you have an explanation with her?"

"I have sworn, and whatever it costs I will accomplish my vow."

Valentine hung his head, but made no reply.

"I implore you!" the count resumed, "let us remain no longer here; the sight of her I love increases my anguish."

"Have you reflected seriously upon this?"

"Oh, yes!" the young man replied, with an air of real or forced resolution.

"Well," said Valentine, shaking his head, "if such is your will, so it must be; we will begone, then!"

"Yes, and as soon as possible; do not you think so?" the young man said, with an involuntary sigh.

"Oh! this very day; I am only waiting for Curumilla, whom I have requested to go and procure horses. As soon as he returns we will start.

"And we will return to the toldería of the tribe of the Great Hare, where we can live happily."

"That is a good idea; in that way our existence will not be a useless one, since we can contribute to the happiness of those around us. And who knows?" Valentine added, smiling – "we may perhaps, become great warriors in Araucania."

Louis's only reply to this pleasantry was a sigh, which did not escape the notice of his friend.

"Oh!" Valentine murmured, "he must and shall be happy in spite of himself."

Curumilla and Trangoil-Lanec appeared in the distance amidst a cloud of dust, galloping towards the hacienda with several horses. The two young men rose to go and meet them.

Scarcely had they left the little grove when Doña Rosario put aside some low branches and came out. She paused thoughtfully for a minute, looking after the two Frenchmen, who were walking away sad and gloomy; then suddenly raising her head with a saucy air, her blue eye brightened, a smile stole over her lips, and she murmured with a pretty nod of her head —

"Hum! ah! – we shall see!"

Then she returned to the hacienda, bounding along like a frightened antelope.

Every morning at eight o'clock, in Spanish-American countries, the bells ring, to assemble at the same table the inhabitants of the hacienda – rom the owner who sits in the centre to the humblest peon who places himself modestly at the lower end. The breakfast is the hour chosen to meet each other and to pay the compliments of the morning, previous to commencing the rough labours of the day.

At the first stroke of eight Don Tadeo descended to the hall and stood before the table, his daughter being on his right hand. He saluted with a smile or a friendly word every one of the persons employed on the farm as they entered.

The two Frenchmen came in last. After cordially shaking hands with them, Don Tadeo assured himself by a glance that no one was wanting at the meeting, took off his hat, in which he was imitated by all present, and slowly and solemnly pronounced the blessing. At a wave of his hand all took their places.

The repast was short; it lasted little more than a quarter of an hour. The peons then returned to their labours under the order of the major-domo, and Don Tadeo desired the maté to be served.

No one remained in the hall but Don Tadeo, his daughter, the foster brothers, the two Indian chiefs, and Cæsar – if it be permissible to reckon a dog as company; the noble animal was crouched at the feet of Doña Rosario.

In a few minutes the maté had made its round on the company, and, yet without any apparent cause, a painful silence prevailed.

Don Tadeo was thoughtful; Doña Rosario was twisting her taper, rose-tipped fingers in the long silky ears of the dog, who had placed his great head upon her knees, with his large, intelligent eyes fixed upon her face.

The count and his foster brother were anxious, and yet afraid to open the subject that weighed upon their hearts; at length, however, Valentine became tired of this false position, and resolutely began.

"Well," he said, "what reply do you mean to make to Don Gregorio Peralta, Don Tadeo?"

"What I told you, my friend," said Don Tadeo, turning towards him. "Chili, henceforward liberated from the man who was dragging the country to destruction, no longer stands in need of me. I am determined to trouble myself no longer with politics. I have long enough devoted my life to the ungrateful labours I imposed upon myself to secure the independence of my country, and deliver it from the ambitious man who wished to enslave it. I have accomplished my task; the hour of repose has struck for me. I peremptorily refuse the presidency which Don Gregorio offers me in the name of the people, and will devote myself entirely to the happiness of my daughter."

"I cannot blame your resolution; it is noble and beautiful, Don Tadeo; it is Worthy of you," the count replied.

"And do you mean to send off this answer soon?" said Valentine.

"In a few minutes; but why do you ask me that question, pray?"

"Because," Valentine replied, "my friend and I will undertake, if you please, to convey it."

Don Tadeo opened his eyes with astonishment.

"How so?" he cried, "What do you mean by that? Can you think of leaving us?"

A melancholy smile played for a moment round the young man's lips; the ice was broken; the sacrifice must be bravely made, and he did not hesitate.

"Heaven is my witness," he said, shaking his head, "that it would be my most ardent wish to remain here."

"Yes," the count interrupted, taking, in spite of himself, a furtive glance at Rosario, who appeared to have no interest in what was passing; "yes, we have too long forgotten ourselves in your charming retreat. This delightful life enervates us; if we do not hasten to tear ourselves from it, we shall soon find it impossible to do so."

"You must leave us!" Don Tadeo repeated, whose countenance became cloudy, and his eyebrows contracted; "and what for?"

"Do you not know?" Louis replied, who took courage from the apparent carelessness of Rosario, "that when for the first time we had the good fortune to meet with you – "