"You seem poetically inclined," I answered.
"Why not? We are out upon a romantic errand. Our lives are not often romantic. We may as well make the best of it, as a beggar does when he gets a bowl of rice."
"I should fancy you had led a very romantic life," said I, lighting a cigarette in the dark, and leaning back against the cushions.
"That is what women always say when they want a man to make confidences," laughed Balsamides. "No, I have not led a romantic life. I pass most of my time sitting on my horse in the hot sun, or the driving snow, preserving, or pretending to preserve, the life of his Majesty from real or imaginary dangers. Or else I sit eight or nine hours a day chatting and smoking with the other adjutants. It is not a healthy life. It is certainly not romantic."
"Not as you describe it. But I judged from the ease with which you made the preparations for this expedition that you had done things of the sort before."
My friend laughed again, but turned the subject.
"I hope that when we meet your friends to-morrow morning, we may have something to show for our night's work," he said. "Fancy what an excitement there would be if we brought Alexander Patoff back with us! Not that it is at all probable. We may bring back nothing but broken bones."
"I do not think Selim will hurt us much," I answered. "He is not exactly an athlete. I would risk a fight with him."
"I dare say. But there may be plenty of strong fellows about the premises. There are the four caïdjs, the boatmen, to begin with. There is a coachman and probably two grooms. Very likely there are half a dozen big hamáls about."
"That makes thirteen," I said. "Six and a half to one, or four and a third to one, if we count upon our own driver."