"Bah! What I have done for you today you will do for me tomorrow, and then we shall be quits."
"I doubt it. I am not a man for battle. I have only social courage. In an émeute, I am afraid."
"Pardieu! So am I; only I do not allow it to be seen. But let us speak no more of this; we have to talk of more important matters—at least, if you would not prefer to resume your sleep, so awkwardly interrupted."
"It would be impossible for me to sleep now. I am entirely at your disposal."
"Since it is so, let us re-enter the rancho. The nights are cold, the dew frozen. It is of no use for us to be any longer in the open air. You see that our wild revolutionists have taken in good part their defeat, and sleep peaceably. Do not let any of them, who may perhaps be still watching, suppose that we still have any anxiety on their account. Come."
They re-entered the rancho, the door of which the painter scrupulously closed after him.
When they had sat down, the young man opened a bottle of rum, poured out a glass, and, after having tasted it, he gave two or three puffs of smoke, and then placing his glass on the table—
"The situation is grave," he said, throwing himself back in his chair; "do you wish that we should speak unreservedly?"
"I should like nothing better," answered the old man, casting at him a furtive look from beneath his half-closed eyelids.
"First and before all, let us understand one another thoroughly," pursued Émile, smiling; "here we do not talk diplomatically: is it not so?"