"Hang it!" the Count went on, still sarcastically, "what have I to do in all this?"
"Oh, sir, not much," the White Buffalo answered, with a sneer; "and anyone else would have suited us just as well; unfortunately for you, you have an extraordinary likeness to the man who can alone march at our head; and as this man died long ago, it is not probable that he will come from his grave expressly to guide us to battle; hence you must take his place."
"Very well; and would there be any indiscretion in asking you the name of the man to whom I bear so wonderful a likeness?"
"Not the slightest," the old man replied, coldly; "the more so, because you have doubtlessly already heard his name; it is Motecuhzoma."
The Count burst into a laugh.
"Come!" he said, "it is a capital joke; but I find it a little too long. Now, a word in my turn."
"Speak."
"Whatever you may do, whatever means you may employ, I will never consent to serve you in any way. Now, as I am your guest, placed under the guarantee of your honour, I request you to let me pass."
"That resolution is decided."
"Yes."