"Very true," said Tom, and then turning to Pierre, he added, laughing, "that fellow does not put too much confidence in me."
"His manner is strange. Perhaps he distrusts me."
"No; Camotte is a bulldog for fidelity and discretion; but, like bulldogs, he is both suspicious and jealous," replied Tom.
"I bear him no malice for his jealousy," said Pierre; "besides, I myself always like those kind of men."
"Yes, they are indeed very precious," continued Tom; "unfortunately, you have to give way to them a little."
"Well, when it is from pure devotion, nothing can be said."
At this moment the door opened, and a young girl entered the room, effectually checking the conversation.
This young girl was Angela, or Evening Dew, whichever it may please the reader to call her.
She gave a graceful curtsy, and then remained with downcast eyes before the outlaw chief.
The two men rose from their seats and bowed respectfully.