"What do you want?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"Nothing of you; we are men of honour, and will not parley with a scoundrel of your stamp."
"You shall be shot like dogs, accursed Frenchmen."
"I defy you to put your threat in execution," said the count, as he coolly cocked the revolver he held in his hand and pointed it at the barrel of gunpowder by his side.
The guerilleros recoiled, uttering shrieks of terror.
"Do not fire, do not fire," they exclaimed; "here is the colonel."
In fact, Cuéllar arrived. Cuéllar is a frightful bandit, this statement will surprise nobody, but we must do him the justice of stating that he possesses unparalleled bravery. He forced his way through his soldiers, and soon found himself standing alone in front of them. He bowed gracefully to the four men, and examined them craftily, and while idly rolling a cigarette.
"Well," he said gaily, "the affair you have imagined is most ingenious, and I sincerely compliment you upon it, caballeros. Those demons of Frenchmen have incredible ideas, on my honour," he added, speaking to himself; "they never allow themselves to be taken unawares; there is enough there to send us all to paradise."
"And in case of need we would no more hesitate to do it than we hesitated to blow up your men, whom you sent as scouts through the grotto."
"What," Cuéllar asked, turning pale, "what is it you are saying about my soldiers?"