Eight weeks had flown by like so many hours. I had become domesticated in the family circle of the Menous, and was getting so frugal and economical, that I scarcely knew what a dollar or a bank-note looked like. Time passed so lightly and pleasantly, and there was something so patriarchal and delightful in this mode of life, that it was no difficult matter to forget the world, with its excitements, its pleasures, and its cares. I, at least, rarely bestowed a thought upon any thing but what was passing immediately around me; whole piles of newspapers lay unread upon my table, and I became every day more and more of a backwoodsman. I rose early, slipped into my linen jacket and trousers, and accompanied M. Menou about his fields and cotton presses. The afternoon passed in looking over accounts, or in reading and laughing at the discussions and opinions of Colonel Stone and Major Noah, as set forth in the well-known papers, the _Morning Courier_ and _Commercial Gazette_, while the evening of each day was filled up by an _impromptu_ of some kind, a dance, or a merry chat. We were sitting one night at supper, when M. Menou proposed a stag-hunt by torchlight. I caught eagerly at the idea, and he at once gave orders to make the needful preparations. The two Mexicans begged to be allowed to accompany us; but almost before they had proffered the request, the lady interfered to oppose it. "Don Lop----!" she exclaimed, and then checked herself in the middle of the word she was about to utter. "_Te suplico_," she continued in Spanish, after a momentary pause, "I implore you not to go to-night." There was something inexpressibly anxious and affectionate in her manner and tone. Her husband begged her not to make herself uneasy, and promised he would not go; at the same time, it was evident that he was vexed not to accompany us. I assured the lady there was no danger. "No danger!" repeated she, in her sonorous Castilian. "No danger! Is nobody aware of the intended hunt?" said she to Menou. "Nobody," was the reply.