The Spaniard always remembered the daughter of Samuel, whom he had so unexpectedly seen at prayer in the Catholic temple. But he had not dared to confide this important secret to Martin Paz while instructing him by degrees in Christian truths; he feared to re-animate sentiments which he wished to extinguish--for the poor Indian, unknown and proscribed, must renounce all hope of happiness! Father Joachim kept Don Vegal informed of the progress of affairs: the police had at last ceased to trouble themselves about Martin Paz; and with time and the influence of his protector, the Indian, become a man of merit and capable of great things, might one day take rank in the highest Peruvian society. Weary of the uncertainty into which his incognito plunged him, Paz resolved to know what had become of the young Jewess. Thanks to his Spanish costume, he could glide into a gaming-saloon, and listen to the conversation of its various frequenters. Andre Certa was a man of so much importance, that his marriage, if it was approaching, would be the subject of conversation. One evening, instead of directing his steps toward the sea, the Indian climbed over the high rocks on which the principal habitations of Chorillos are built; a house, fronted by broad stone steps, struck his eyes--he entered it without noise. The day had been hard for many of the wealthy Limanians; some among them, exhausted with the fatigues of the preceding night, were reposing on the ground, wrapped in their _ponchos_. Other players were seated before a large green table, divided into four compartments by two lines, which intersected each other at the centre in right angles; on each of these compartments were the first letters of the words _azar_ and _suerte_, (chance and fate,) A and S. At this moment, the parties of the _monte_ were animated; a mestizo was pursuing the unfavorable chance with feverish ardor. "Two thousand piasters!" exclaimed he. The banker shook the dice, and the player burst into imprecations. "Four thousand piasters!" said he, again. And he lost once more. Martin Paz, protected by the obscurity of the saloon, could look the player in the face, and he turned pale. It was Andre Certa! Near him, was standing the Jew Samuel. "You have played enough, Senor Andre," said Samuel to him; "the luck is not for you." "What business is it of yours?" replied the mestizo, roughly. Samuel bent down to his ear. "If it is not my business, it is your business to break off these habits during the days which precede your marriage." "Eight thousand piasters!" resumed Andre Certa. He lost again: the mestizo suppressed a curse and the banker resumed--"Play on!" Andre Certa, drawing from his pocket some bills, was about to have hazarded a considerable sum; he had even deposited it on one of the tables, and the banker, shaking his dice, was about to have decided its fate, when a sign from Samuel stopped him short. The Jew bent again to the ear of the mestizo, and said--