"Although you speak Spanish magnificently, I believe I can recognise the Frenchman in you."
"I have that honour."
The stranger chuckled inwardly. He had caught his man: he had found out his weak point.
"I am alone," he went on. "You have I know not how many comrades. Allow me to speak with your captain. What do you fear?"
"Nothing; but my orders are strict—I dare not break through them."
"We are in the heart of the desert, more than a hundred leagues from every civilised abode," the stranger said, pressingly. "You can understand that very powerful reasons were requisite to make me brave the numberless dangers of the long journey I have made to speak for a few moments with the Count de Lhorailles. Would you shipwreck me in sight of port, when it only requires a little kindness on your part for me to obtain what I want?"
The trooper hesitated; the reasons urged by the stranger had half convinced him. Still, after a few minutes' reflection, he said with a toss of his head,—
"No, it is impossible; the captain is stern, and I do not care to lose my corporal's stripes. All I can do for you is to allow you to bivouac here with our men in the open air. Tomorrow it will be day; the captain will come out; you will speak to him, and arrange matters as you please, for it will not affect me."
"Hem!" the stranger said thoughtfully, "it is a long time to wait."
"Bah!" said the soldier gaily, "a night is soon passed. Besides, it is your own fault; you are so confoundedly mysterious. A man needn't be ashamed of his name."