The morning began to break—­the narrow band of pale light on the horizon, which was growing rapidly brighter and assuming a rosy tinge, was reflected here and there in the little pools of water that shone like bits of a broken mirror scattered over the ground—­distant sounds were heard, and columns of smoke rising into the still morning air proved that even in this desolate, God-forsaken part of the Landes there were human habitations to be found.  Stalking along with giant strides on the highest part of some rising ground not very far off was a grotesque figure, clearly defined against the bright eastern sky, which would have been a puzzle to a stranger, but was a familiar sight to de Sigognac—­a shepherd mounted on his high stilts, such as are to be met with everywhere throughout the Landes.

But the young baron was too much absorbed in his own engrossing thoughts to take any note of his surroundings as he kept pace with the slow-moving chariot, until his eye was caught and his attention fixed by a strange little point of light, glittering among the sombre pines that formed the dense grove where we left Agostino and Chiquita sleeping.  He wondered what it could be—­certainly not a glow-worm, the season for them was past long ago—­and he watched it as he advanced towards it with a vague feeling of uneasiness.  Approaching nearer he caught a glimpse of the singular group of figures lurking among the trees, and at first feared an ambuscade; but finding that they continued perfectly motionless he concluded that he must have been mistaken, and that they were only old stumps after all; so he forbore to arouse the comedians, as he had for a moment thought of doing.

A few steps farther and suddenly a loud report was heard from the grove, a bullet sped through the air, and struck the oxen’s yoke—­happily without doing any damage, further than causing the usually quiet, steady-going beasts to swerve violently to one side—­when fortunately a considerable heap of sand prevented the chariot’s being overturned into the ditch beside the road.  The sharp report and violent shock startled the sleeping travellers in the chariot, and the younger women shrieked wildly in their terror, whilst the duenna, who had met with such adventures before, slipped the few gold pieces she had in her purse into her shoe.  Beside the chariot, from which the actors were struggling to extricate themselves, stood Agostino—­his cloak wrapped around his left arm and the formidable navaja in his right hand-and cried in a voice of thunder, “Your money or your lives!  Resistance is useless!  At the first sign of it my band will fire upon you.”