His perplexity was great. He adored his niece; she was his only object of love, his only consolation. For her he would, without regret or hesitation, a thousand times sacrifice all he possessed; but, on the other side, the reasons which had obliged him to undertake this perilous journey were of such importance that he trembled, and felt a cold perspiration bedew his forehead, at the thought of renouncing it. "What is to be done?" he said to himself. "What is to be done?" Doña Luz, who was in her turn leaving her tent, perceived her uncle, whose reflective walk still continued, and, running towards him, threw her arms affectionately round his neck. "Good day, uncle," she said, kissing him. "Good day, my daughter," the general replied. He was accustomed to call her so. "Eh! eh! my child, you are very gay this morning." And he returned with interest the caresses she had lavished upon him. "Why should I not be gay, uncle? Thanks to God? we have just escaped a great peril; everything in nature seems to smile, the birds are singing upon every branch, the sun inundates us with warm rays; we should be ungrateful towards the Creator if we remained insensible to these manifestations of His goodness." "Then the perils of last night have left no distressing impression upon your mind, my dear child?" "None at all, uncle, except a deep sense of gratitude for the benefits God has favoured us with." "That is well, my daughter," the general replied joyfully, "I am happy to hear you speak thus." "All the better, if it please you, uncle." "Then," the general continued, following up the idea of his preoccupation, "the life we are now leading is not fatiguing to you?" "Oh, not at all; on the contrary, I find it very agreeable, and, above all, full of incidents," she said with a smile. "Yes," the general continued, partaking her gaiety; "but," he added, becoming serious again, "I think we are too forgetful of our liberators." "They are gone," Doña Luz replied. "Gone?" the general said, with great surprise. "Full an hour ago." "How do you know that, my child?" "Very simply, uncle, they bade me adieu before they left us." "That is not right," the general murmured in a tone of vexation; "a service is as binding upon those who bestow it as upon those who receive it; they should not have left us thus without bidding me farewell, without telling us whether we should ever see them again, and leaving us even unacquainted with their names." "I know them." "You know them, my daughter?" the general said, with astonishment. "Yes, uncle; before they went, they told me." "And--what are they?" the general asked, eagerly. "The younger is named Belhumeur." "And the elder?" "Loyal Heart." "Oh! I must find these two men again," the general said, with an emotion he could not account for. "Who knows," the young girl replied, thoughtfully, "perhaps in the very first danger that threatens us they will make their appearance as our benevolent genii."