"What a capital man of business you are, Don Fernando! You provide for everything; no detail escapes you."
"My traveller's habits, Don Torribio,—nothing more."
Don Torribio took the pistol and cocked it.
"Señores," said he, "I beg you not to leave my body to the mercy of the wild beasts; it would distress me dreadfully to become their food when I am dead."
"Set your mind at rest, dear señor; we will carry you home across your own horse. We should be in despair if the body of so accomplished a caballero were thus profaned."
"That is all I have to request of you, señores; now accept my thanks, and farewell."
After this he cast one last look around him, and coolly placed the muzzle of the pistol against his right temple.
Don Fernando suddenly arrested his hand.
"I have one remark to make," he said.
"Upon my honour, you are only just in time," said Don Torribio, without exhibiting emotion: "two seconds more, and it would have been too late. But let us hear this remark. Is it of much interest?"