"The devil take these fellows," murmured the young man to himself; "to think of coming to talk politics here! I was so comfortable. What shall I do with myself now?"
But as he heard what his neighbours said, and even their lightest movements, the latter probably would have heard him if he had endeavoured to leave the place. Force compelled him, then, though he grumbled at it, to maintain his hiding place, and to continue to hear the conversation of the two men—a conversation by no means calculated to reassure him, and which from time to time assumed a very disquieting character for a third party, called to be, spite of himself, a confidant.
We have mentioned what horror the painter had for politics: the reader will easily understand what was his anxiety on hearing such things as those we are about to relate.
"This news is certain!" said one of the interlocutors.
"I have it from an eyewitness," answered the other.
"¡Caramba!" said the first, slightly raising his voice, "So we may soon hope to see the general in these parts!"
The painter trembled. He seemed to recognise that voice, without being able to recall where he had previously heard it.
"So the insurgents have been defeated?" continued the same speaker.
"Utterly defeated, Captain. I repeat it, at the battle of Villuma, General Pezuela pursued them more than six leagues, hard pressing them with the sword."
"Bravo! And what is he doing now?"