A white form appears upon the terrace amid the flowers to which night has only left a vague outline, without diminishing their delicious perfumes; the dahlias mingle with the mentzelias, with the helianthus, and, beneath the occidental breeze, form a waving basket which surrounds Sarah, the young and beautiful Jewess. Martin Paz involuntarily raises his hands and clasps them with adoration. Suddenly the white form sinks down, as if terrified. Martin Paz turns, and finds himself face to face with Andre Certa. "Since when do the Indians pass their nights in contemplation?" Andre Certa spoke angrily. "Since the Indians have trodden the soil of their ancestors." "Have they no longer, on the mountain side, some _yaravis_ to chant, some _boleros_ to dance with the girls of their caste?" "The _cholos_," replied the Indian, in a high voice, "bestow their devotion where it is merited; the Indians love according to their hearts." Andre Certa became pale with anger; he advanced a step toward his immovable rival. "Wretch! will you quit this place?" "Rather quit it yourself," shouted Martin Paz; and two poignards gleamed in the two right hands of the adversaries; they were of equal stature, they seemed of equal strength, and the lightnings of their eyes were reflected in the steel of their arms. Andre Certa rapidly raised his arm, which he dropped still more quickly. But his poignard had encountered the Malay poignard of the Indian; at the fire which flashed from this shock, Andre saw the arm of Martin Paz suspended over his head, and immediately rolled on the earth, his arm pierced through. "Help, help!" he exclaimed. The door of the Jew's house opened at his cries. Some mestizoes ran from a neighboring house; some pursued the Indian, who fled rapidly; others raised the wounded man. He had swooned. "Who is this man?" said one of them. "If he is a sailor, take him to the hospital of Spiritu Santo; if an Indian, to the hospital of Santa Anna." An old man advanced toward the wounded youth; he had scarcely looked upon him when he exclaimed: "Let the poor young man be carried into my house. This is a strange mischance." This man was the Jew Samuel; he had just recognized the betrothed of his daughter. Martin Paz, thanks to the darkness and the rapidity of his flight, may hope to escape his pursuers; he has risked his life; an Indian assassin of a mestizo! If he can gain the open country he is safe, but he knows that the gates of the city are closed at eleven o'clock in the evening, not to be re-opened till four in the morning. He reaches at last the stone bridge which he had already crossed. The Indians, and some soldiers who had joined them, pursue him closely; he springs upon the bridge. Unfortunately a patrol appears at the opposite extremity; Martin Paz can neither advance nor retrace his steps; without hesitation he clears the parapet and leaps into the rapid current which breaks against the corners of the stones.