"I am certain of it."
The old soldier dismounted with a shrug of his shoulders, and entered the house. The stranger did not appear to doubt the success of the corporal's embassy; for, as soon as he had disappeared, he walked up to the door. In a few moments the corporal returned.
"Well," the stranger asked, "what answer did the captain give you?"
"He began laughing and ordered me to bring you in."
"You see I was right."
"That's true; but, for all that, an attempted assassination is a droll recommendation."
"A meeting," the stranger remarked.
"I don't know if you call it by that name here; but in France we call it waylaying. Come on."
The stranger made no reply; he merely shrugged his shoulders, and followed the worthy trooper.
In an immense hall, whose dilapidated walls threatened to collapse, and to which the star-spangled sky served as roof, four men of stern features and flashing eyes were seated round a table, served with the most delicate luxury and the most sensual idea of comfort. They were the count and the officers forming his staff, namely, Lieutenants Diégo Léon and Martin Leroux, and Don Sylva's old capataz, Blas Vasquez.