"A service! Speak, my friend: whatever it may be, if it depends on me, it is granted before asking."
"What I want does depend on you."
"What is it?"
"My comrades and myself wish to have the honour of fighting by your side tomorrow."
"Is that the service you had to ask of me, Belhumeur?"
"Yes, and no other."
"Then you are mistaken, my friend: you mean to say a service to render me. I heartily accept your proposition, and thank you for it cordially."
"Then that is arranged. You admit us into your ranks?"
"By Jove! I should be mad not to do so."
Belhumeur informed his friends of the success of his negotiation, and they rejoiced at it as if they had received the handsomest possible present. After this slight incident, the party, increased by the three new recruits, went onwards. The Frenchmen trotted on in the darkness like a troop of silent phantoms, bending over the necks of their horses, eagerly questioning the sounds that rose from the desert, and sounding the gloom in order to obtain some sign that they were approaching their comrades.