Although Don Pedro had ceased speaking for some time, the Tigercat still seemed to be listening to his words; but suddenly lifting his head proudly, he cast a mocking glance around him, and burst into a laugh, dry and hard as that which Goethe ascribes to Mephistopheles.
This laugh cut the hacendero to the heart. He comprehended that the evil instincts of the freebooter had resumed their sway over the better thoughts which, for a moment, had seemed to assert their mastery.
After this bout of laughter, the countenance of the Tigercat resumed its usual rigid immobility.
"Good!" cried he in a tone of apparent glee, which did by no means deceive Don Pedro; "I expected a sermon, and find I was not mistaken. Well, at the risk of sinking in your estimation,—or, to speak more truly, in order to flatter your self-esteem by leaving you in the belief that you judge my feelings correctly,—I decree that you and your followers return to your Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio, not only without the loss of a hair, but even as partakers of my hospitality. Does not this decision astonish you? You were far from expecting it."
"Not so; it is exactly what I anticipated."
"Indeed!" said he, with astonishment; "Then if I offer you the hospitality of my calli, you will accept it?"
"And why not, if the offer is made in good faith?"
"Then come without fear; I pledge you my word that you nor yours need fear any injury on my part."
"I follow you," said Don Pedro.
But the unknown had watched with increasing anxiety the erratic course of this conversation, and advancing abruptly in front of, and extending his arms towards, the hacendero—