Krantz immediately recognised the Portuguese soldier, whose conversation with him had been interrupted.
“Good night, my friend! We thank Heaven that you have no longer to turn the key upon us.”
“Yes, I’m surprised!” replied the soldier, in a low tone.—“Our Commandant is fond of exercising his power; he rules here without appeal, that I can tell you.”
“He is not within hearing of us now,” replied Krantz. “It is a lovely spot this to live in! How long have you been in this country?”
“Now thirteen years, signor, and I’m tired of it. I have a wife and children in Oporto—that is, I had—but whether they are alive or not, who can tell?”
“Do you not expect to return and see them?”
“Return—signor! no Portuguese soldier like me ever returns. We are enlisted for five years, and we lay our bones here.”
“That is hard indeed.”
“Hard, signor,” replied the soldier in a low whisper; “it is cruel and treacherous. I have often thought of putting the muzzle of my arquebuse to my head; but while there’s life there’s hope.”
“I pity you, my good fellow,” rejoined Krantz; “look you, I have two gold pieces left—take one; you may be able to send it home to your poor wife.”