However, there was no other means than that; he must adopt it. The young man resigned himself to it—against his will, it is true—hoping that perhaps fate might weary of persecuting the two weak creatures whom he wished to serve.
A prey to by no means pleasurable thoughts, Emile, with his arms crossed behind his back, and his head leaning on his breast, paced with an agitated step the open space before the tambo, when he heard himself called several times in a loud voice.
He raised his head. Don Zeno and Don Pablo Pincheyra, seated side by side on the banks of a ditch, made a sign to him to join them.
"What do these demons want with me?" murmured he, in his manner of speaking to himself in a low tone. "They are certainly two good specimens of scoundrels. Ah!" said he, with a sigh, "How happy was Salvator Rosa—he who could at his ease paint all the brigands that he met! What a splendid picture I could make here! What a magnificent landscape!"
Speaking thus, the young man directed his steps towards the two partisans, before whom he found himself just at the last word of his "aside." He bowed to them, with a smile on his face.
"You wish to speak to me, gentlemen?" said he. "Can I be of any service to you?"
"You can," answered Zeno Cabral, smiling, "render me a service for which I should be ever grateful."
"Although I am ignorant as to what you expect of me, and what is the service you are about to ask of me, I do not wish to abuse your confidence, and to deceive you. It is well that we should thoroughly understand our position."
"What do you mean, señor?" asked Don Zeno, with a start of surprise.
"I will explain. You doubtless do not recognise me, señor. I confess that at first, when I came to your help, I did not know who was the man whose life I had saved; but now I recognise you as Don—"