‘That is no difficult matter,’ replied the figure; ‘the sound of your voice was enough to tell me that.’
‘You speak of voices,’ said I; ‘suppose the tone of your own voice were to tell me who you are?’
‘That it will not do,’ replied my companion; ‘you know nothing about me—you can know nothing about me.’
‘Be not sure of that, my friend; I am acquainted with many things of which you have little idea.’
‘Por exemplo,’ said the figure.
‘For example,’ said I, ‘you speak two languages.’
The figure moved on, seemed to consider a moment and then said slowly, ‘Bueno.’
‘You have two names,’ I continued; ‘one for the house, and the other for the street; both are good, but the one by which you are called at home is the one which you like best.’
The man walked on about ten paces, in the same manner as he had previously done; all of a sudden he turned, and taking the bridle of the burra gently in his hand, stopped her. I had now a full view of his face and figure, and those huge features and Herculean form still occasionally revisit me in my dreams. I see him standing in the moonshine, staring me in the face with his deep calm eyes. At last he said—
‘Are you then one of us?’