The count fêted with his officers the victory gained on the previous day, and urged them to drink to the success of the expedition they were going to attempt on the morrow. Flushed by the numerous potations he had made, by the repeated toasts he had drunk, as well as by the hope of complete success ere long, the count was in the best possible temper to hear the singular message the old corporal delivered so much against the grain.
"And what sort of fellow is he?" he asked, when the other had performed his task.
"On my word, captain," the corporal answered, "so far as I could see, he is stout, well-built young fellow, and gifted with a sufficient stock of assurance, not to speak more strongly."
The count reflected for a moment.
"Shall I have him shot?" the soldier asked, taking this silence for a condemnation.
"Plague take it, what a hurry you are in, Boiland!" the count said laughing and looking up. "No, no; this scamp's arrival is a piece of good luck for us. On the contrary, bring him here with the utmost politeness."
The soldier bowed and retired.
"Gentlemen," the count continued, "you remember the trap to which I almost fell a victim: a certain amount of mystery, which I have never been able to fathom, has since surrounded this affair. The man who asks speech of me has come, I feel a presentiment, in order to give me the key to many things which have hitherto been incomprehensible."
"Señor conde," the capataz observed, "pray take care. You do not yet know the character of our people; this man may come to draw you into a snare."
"For what purpose?"