"At your ease, captain; I do not wish to displease you in any way."
"We will see that presently, cuerpo de Dios! And in the first place, to speak frankly, I will tell you that I did not come to see you, but your worthy father, my brave general. Voto a brios! The news of his death quite upset me, and I am not myself again yet."
"I am very grateful, captain, for the kindly memory in which you hold my father."
"Capa de Cristo!" the captain said, who, among other habits more or less excellent, possessed to an eminent degree that of seasoning each of his phrases with an oath, at times somewhat unorthodox, "of course I hold in kind memory the man by whose side I fought for ten years, and to whom I owe it that I am what I am. Yes, I do remember him, and I hope soon, canarios! To prove it to his son."
"I thank you, captain, though I do not perceive in what way you can give me this proof."
"Good, good!" he said, gnawing his moustache. "I know how to do it, and that is enough. Everything will come at its right season."
"As you please, my old friend. At any rate, you will be kind enough to remember that you are at home here, and that the longer you stay the greater pleasure you will afford me."
"Good, muchacho! I expected that from you. I will avail myself of the hospitality so gracefully offered, but will not abuse it."
"An old comrade in arms of my father's cannot do that in his house, captain, and you less than anyone else. But," he added, seeing a peon enter, "here is a servant come to announce that the dinner is served. I confess to you that, as I have been hunting all day, I am now dying of hunger: if you will follow me we will sit down to the table and renew our acquaintance glass in hand."
"I ask nothing better, rayo de Dios!" the captain said as he rose. "Though I have not been hunting, I think I shall do honour to the repast."