"It is true," the stranger interrupted him; "I quitted the city about three in the afternoon."
"I suppose," the colonel continued, "that you intend to halt at the mesón of San Juan; so, if you have no objection, we will proceed thither together, for I intend to halt for the night there."
"The mesón of San Juan is a good hostelry," the other said, respectfully lifting his hand to his hat; "but what shall I do there? I have not an ochavo to expend uselessly, and have far to go. I will bivouac on the road; and while my horse, poor brute, is sucking its bit, I will smoke cigarettes, and sing that romance of King Rodrigo, which, as you are aware, commences thus."
And quickly bringing his guitar to the front, he began singing in a loud voice,—
"Cuando las pintadas aves
Mudas están, y la tierra
Atenta escucha los rio
Que al mar su tributo llevan:
Al escaso resplandor—"[2]
"Eh!" the colonel exclaimed, brusquely interrupting, "what musical rage possesses you? It is frenzy."
"No," the singer replied in melancholy mood; "it is philosophy."
The colonel examined the poor fellow for a moment; then drawing nearer to him,—
"I am Colonel Don Sebastian Guerrero de Chimalpos. I am travelling with my daughter and a few servants. Grant me the honour of your company for this night: tomorrow we will separate, and go our several ways."
The stranger hesitated for a moment, and frowned. This shade of dissatisfaction, however, soon disappeared.