"And yet you are deceived, my dear friend, as you shall judge: come with me, the flag of truce is now crossing the barricades, and in an instant you will learn that you have never been so near death as now."
"You are joking."
"I never joke about serious circumstances."
"In Heaven's name explain yourself!" said the poor senator, whose fears had all returned.
"Lord! it is the simplest thing in the world," said the General, carelessly; "I have but to declare to the leader of the revolt, and be assured I will not fail to do so, that I only acted by your orders."
"Well, but that is not true," interrupted Don Ramón, in great alarm.
"I know that," the General replied, bluntly; "but, as you are a senator, they will believe me, and you will be fully and fairly shot, and that will be a pity."
Don Ramón was thunderstruck by this piece of implacable logic; he found that he was in a hobble, from which he could not possibly escape without paying handsomely. He looked at his friend, who surveyed him with a pitilessly ironical smile, whilst the officers bit their lips to keep from laughing; he stifled a sigh, and resolving to make the best of it, very much against his will, he said, inwardly cursing the man who exposed him in such a cynical fashion—
"Well, Don Tiburcio, I admit that I owe you two thousand piastres, but I will pay you."
This was the only epigram he ventured to indulge in regarding the General's willingness to pay; but the latter was magnanimous, he took no notice of the offensive part of the speech, and rendered quite cheerful by the bargain he had concluded, he prepared to listen to the propositions of the officer with the flag of truce, who was brought to him with his eyes bandaged. This officer was Don Tadeo de Leon.