"Nothing will suit me better," answered M. Dubois, pleasantly; "I even promise you that I shall do honour to the supper. I have a tremendous appetite."
"So much the better, then, for the quantity of the repast will make you overlook its quality."
The young man clapped his hands. Almost immediately an Indian woman appeared, and prepared the table, which, in a very brief time was covered with simple dishes, hastily prepared. M. Dubois had opened his bottle case, and had taken from it several bottles, which produced an excellent effect in the primitive receptacle on the middle of the table.
On the invitation of his host, the old man seated himself, and the repast commenced.
After a long day of travelling in the desert, exposed to the heat of the sun and to the dust, people are not very particular as to the quality of the provisions. Appetite makes one consider that to be good which, at another time, would not be touched with the end of the finger. Thus, the aristocratic guest of the painter, making the best of his position, resolutely commenced the attack on what was placed before him; and, contrary to his presentiments, everything was found, if not excellent, at all events eatable.
When supper was over, and the wine vessel taken away, the painter, after a few minutes' conversation, wished his guest a cordial good night, and withdrew.
The latter, as soon as he was alone, changed his mantle into a mattress—that is to say, he stretched it on the table, laid himself down on it, enveloped himself carefully in it, and slept.
He could not have told how long he had been sleeping, when all of a sudden he was rudely awakened by cries of fright and of rage raised at a little distance from him, and with which were almost immediately mingled several shots.
M. Dubois rose in the utmost anxiety, and rushed out to discover the cause of this extraordinary tumult.