The two men sat down side by side, and a peon placed before them a few dishes, which, though far from delicate, were of a quality superior to the Canadian's repast. The count felt, perhaps unconsciously, an interest in the Canadian, the cause of which he could not have explained, and was attracted by this blunt but frank man, with his short but always honest remarks. He divined beneath this rough husk a good nature and a strong heart, which aroused his sympathy and were a relief after the roguery and cowardly adulation of the men with whom he usually came in contact. While eating (the adventurer heartily, and the count scarce touching what was served up), they talked without the slightest restraint. Oliver related, without any boasting or pride, the incidents of his life as a wood ranger, his hunts and fights with the Indians, his adventurous excursions at the head of his bold comrades, who had unanimously elected him their chief, and the incessant joys and sorrows of this varied existence. The count listened with ever increasing interest. When the adventurer came to his enrolment among the Mexican insurgents, his hearer interrupted him—
"This time," he said, "I think you have not acted consistently with your principles."
"How so?" Oliver asked in surprise.
"Why," the count continued, "it appears to me that you let yourself be led away by the pride of rank and hope of gain."
"You are mistaken, señor, nothing would have induced me to join the Mexicans if I had not been convinced in my heart that their cause was a good one. This reason alone decided me, and besides," he added in a low voice, as he took a sly glance at the other, "I had a personal motive."
The count shook his head dubiously, but made no answer, and the conversation stopped at this point.
Four hours later, the Spaniards started again in the hope of reaching their journey's end at eight in the evening. But the count and the adventurer now rode side by side conversing amicably together.