"A friend!" I cried; "but put up your rapier; I am alone and unarmed."
The moon lighted up the surrounding objects so clearly that the Spaniard was convinced that I had spoken the truth, and he returned it to its sheath.
"Pardon my indiscretion, Señor Cavalier," I said, advancing into the illuminated circle; "I have been drawn to you, I must say, only by a motive of curiosity. If I am not deceived, you are, like myself, a foreigner, and, as such, almost a friend."
In spite of my politeness, the stranger's features still kept an air of haughty defiance. He seated himself, however, and invited me, with a wave of his hand, to do the same. I did so without ceremony.
"I am a Spaniard, it is true," answered my new companion, haughtily; "but, throughout the whole of America, is not a Spaniard at home? It is now my turn to ask pardon of you for deeming you a spy sent by—"
The Spaniard stopped all at once.
"By whom?" I inquired.
"You are welcome," said the unknown, without replying. He accepted a cigar which I offered him, and we began to smoke with all the gravity which characterizes Indian warriors round a council fire. By the light of the moon, aided by that of the fire, I could easily see, what I had before noticed, that the hard privations which the Spaniard had endured had left ineffaceable traces of mental suffering on his brow, but without altering in the least his noble physiognomy.
"Did you compose those verses yourself," I asked, "which I have so indiscreetly interrupted, and whose originality has struck me so much?"
"No; I only adapted them to an air of my own composition for an affair which it would be too tedious to relate to you."