"It is said, general," answered the officer, "that these men are remarkable for power, skill, and courage. I cannot vouch for it, only having heard so much."
"I know them; I have seen them at work; they are demons."
"It is possible," said the captain smiling; "but I think that, without going very far, it would be easy to find in Brazil men who for bravery, power, and cunning are equal to them, if they are not superior."
"Oh! Oh! You are of course joking, Don Sebastiao?"
"I am not at all joking; I express my conviction."
"A conviction! And of whom do you speak then?"
"Why, the Paulistas, general—the Paulistas whom you know as well as I do—those extraordinary men who have accomplished so many extraordinary things since the discovery of America, and to whom Brazil owes her incalculable riches."
The aide-de-camp would have continued speaking in the same manner, but the general did not listen to him; his countenance had become of a livid paleness; a convulsive trembling had, like an electric shock, run through his body, and he had sunk upon his horse as if he were on the point of losing consciousness.
"Good Heaven! What is the matter with you, general?" cried the officer.
"I do not know," answered the latter, in a choking voice: "I do not feel well."