"Come here, my son," the buccaneer continued, "I believe we have found your little matter."
"Ah, ah!" L'Olonnais, still invisible, replied, "I must have a look at it."
The young Count did not know what to think of this new incident which seemed about to change the state of affairs; he feared a coarse jest on the part of these half-savage men. He hesitated between giving way to the passion that was boiling within him, or patiently awaiting the result of the buccaneer's summons; but a secret foreboding urged him to restrain himself and act prudently with these men, who did not appear animated by an evil design against him, and whose manners, though quick and rough, were still friendly.
At this moment L'Olonnais appeared; he wore the same dress as the buccaneer: he advanced hurriedly toward the latter, and without troubling himself about the two Spaniards, asked him what he wanted, while throwing on the ground a wild bull's hide, which he was carrying on his shoulders.
"Did you not tell me something about a letter which Bowline sent you this morning by the hands of Omopoua?"
"It is true, Lepoletais. I spoke to you about it," he said, "and it was settled between us that as you know the country, you were to lead me to the person to whom I have to deliver this accursed slip of paper."
"Well, then, my son, if you like, your commission is performed," Lepoletais continued, as he pointed to Don Sancho, "he is the brother, or at least calls himself so, of the person in question."
"Stuff," L'Olonnais replied, fixing alight glance on the young man, "that gay springald?"
"Yes, he says so; for as you know, the Spaniards are such liars, that it is not possible even to trust to their word."
Don Sancho blushed with indignation.