l race, no
longer have the energy necessary to elevate and govern a state. It is
therefore yours to triumph over that unhappy Americanism, which tends to
reject European colonization. Yes, know that only European emigration
can save the old Peruvian empire. Instead of this intestine war which
tends to exclude all castes, with the exception of one, frankly extend
your hands to the industrious population of the Old World."

"The Indians, senor, will always see in strangers an enemy, and will
never suffer them to breathe with impunity the air of their mountains.
The kind of dominion which I exercise over them will be without effect
on the day when I do not swear death to their oppressors, whoever they
may be! And, besides, what am I now?" added Martin Paz, with great
sadness; "a fugitive who would not have three hours to live in the
streets of Lima."

"Paz, you must promise me that you will not return thither."

"How can I promise you this, Don Vegal? I speak only the truth, and I
should perjure myself were I to take an oath to that effect."

Don Vegal was silent. The passion of the young Indian increased from day
to day; the marquis trembled to see him incur certain death by
re-appearing at Lima. He hastened by all his desires, he would have
hastened by all his efforts, the marriage of the Jewess!

To ascertain himself the state of things he quitted Chorillos one
morning, returned to the city, and learned that Andre Certa had
recovered from his wound. His approaching marriage was the topic of
general conversation.

Don Vegal wished to see this woman whose image troubled the mind of
Martin Paz. He repaired, at evening, to the Plaza-Mayor. The crowd was
always numerous there. There he met Father Joachim de Camarones, his
confessor and his oldest friend; he acquainted him with his mode of
life. What was the astonishment of the good father to learn the
existence of Martin Paz. He promised Don Vegal to watch also himself
over the young Indian, and to convey to the marquis any intelligence of
importance.

Suddenly the glances of Don Vegal rested on a young girl, enveloped in a
black mantle, reclining in a caleche.

"Who is that beautiful person?" asked he of the father.

"It is the betrothed of Andre Certa, the daughter of the Jew Samuel."

"She! the daughter of the Jew!"

The marquis could hardly suppress his astonishment, and, pressing the
hand of Father Joachim, pensively took the road to Chorillos.

He had ju