"Sit down, Don Vicente," the captain said as he drew forward a chair.
The colonel fell back into the butaca offered him with a sigh of satisfaction, whose meaning only those who have ridden thirty leagues at a stretch can understand. For some minutes the conversation between the captain and his guest was interrupted, for the colonel ate and drank with an avidity which, judging from the well-known sobriety of the Mexicans, proved that he had fasted a long time. De Laville examined him thoughtfully, asking himself mentally what reason was so important as to induce Don Guerrero to send a colonel to Guetzalli, and spite of himself he felt a vague uneasiness weighing on his heart. At length Don Vicente drank a glass of water, wiped his mouth, and turned to the captain.
"A thousand pardons," he said, "for having behaved so unceremoniously to you; but now I will confess to you that I was almost dead of inanition, having eaten nothing since eight o'clock last evening."
The captain bowed.
"You do not, of course, intend to return this evening?" he asked him.
"Pardon me, caballero, if it be possible, I shall start again in an hour."
"So soon?"
"The general ordered me to make the greatest speed."
"But your horses are half dead."
"I count on your kindness to supply me with fresh ones."