"That is the right way to speak, señor conde," Don Anastasio replied. "Well, to a question so clearly asked, we will answer no less clearly. We do not doubt (Heaven forbid we should!) either the courage or strategic skill of your soldiers: we know that the French are brave. Still your band is not large: up to the present it has no support, and only possesses the patch of ground on which it is encamped. Establish a solid base of operations—seize, for instance, one of the three chief cities of Sonora—then you will no longer be adventurers, but really soldiers; and we shall no longer fear to treat with you, because your expedition will have gained consistency—in one word, have become earnest."
"Very good, gentlemen; I understand you," the count answered coldly. "And, in case I succeed in carrying one of the cities you mention, I can count on you?"
"Body and soul."
"And how many men will you place at my disposal?"
"Six thousand in four days—the whole of Sonora in a week."
"You promise it?"
"We all swear it!" they exclaimed enthusiastically.
But this enthusiasm could not produce a flash or smile on the count's face.
"Gentlemen," he said, "within a fortnight I give you the meeting in one of the three chief cities of Sonora; and then, as I shall have accomplished my obligations, I shall call on you to keep yours."
The Mexicans could not restrain a gesture of astonishment and admiration at these noble words. The count, though no longer young, was still handsome, and gifted with that fascination which improvises kingdoms. Each of his phrases left a memory. All present came in turn to press his hand, and renew individually their protestations of devotion, after which they left the room. The count and Valentine remained alone.