"In the Roman camp by this time, I hope," replied Cleanor; and proceeded briefly to describe what he had done.
"Well," said the other, "as nothing has been seen or heard of him, he has probably made his escape; and a very lucky thing for him! But now about yourself. Hasdrubal knows, or will know to-morrow morning. One of the soldiers who was with us gave information. I will be even with him some day, the mercenary scoundrel! Happily, the chief was too tipsy to understand what was being told him. But he will be sober to-morrow morning, and then look out for yourself. But what do you mean to do?"
"Do?" replied Cleanor, "nothing, except tell him the truth."
"Well, you don't want for courage. But remember, he is the most merciless brute on earth. Don't flatter yourself that you will find him anything else."
"I have made up my mind. Let him do his worst. But a thousand thanks to you!"
"I wish we had a thousand men such as he in Carthage," muttered the young officer to himself as he went away—"as gentle as he is brave, whereas our people's fancy is to be cruel and cowardly."
Early on the following morning an orderly made his appearance at Cleanor's quarters. "The general understands," he said, "that you have a prisoner in your hands. You are to deliver him up."
Cleanor did not feel himself bound to make any explanation to an orderly, and simply replied that he had no prisoner in his hands.
"Then," said the man, "I am instructed to search your quarters."