“Oh lá-lá, it’s–it’s Michel!”
“Rodrigo Galán!” roared the Tiger, in his turn recognizing Sombrero. “Here, up with him! Six of you, quick there, in line, shoot him!”
It was near the sweetest moment of the old warrior’s life.
“One moment, colonel!” someone spoke quietly. “Is it a Huastecan custom, by the way, to shoot a cavalier the instant he–ah–dismounts?”
“But this scoundrel is Rodrigo Galán, Your Majesty. And that black horse, sacré tonnerre, that is Maurel’s horse. Captain Maurel, sire, whom he murdered!”
Don Rodrigo straightened pompously. “Your Most Opportune Majesty–” he began.
“Also, Colonel Dupin,” Maximilian continued, “he waylaid the Belgian ambassador, sent by Leopold, brother to Our August Spouse.”
“The more reason to shoot him, pardi!”
“Without doubt, monsieur. But his execution must have 158éclat. Europe must know that Mexican outlaws do not go unpunished.–Colonel Lopez, you will take charge of Our prisoner. Guard him well, and bring him with you to the City. He shall be tried there, with every ceremony.”
Colonel Dupin, that policeman of the backwoods forced upon Mexico by Napoleon, could only grind his teeth, which he did.