"My father," Doña Anita said in a caressing tone, "Don Martial has risked his life for us."
"Have I not thanked him for it?" he continued. "The affair was a sharp one, as it seems, but the heathens escaped very quickly. Was there no one killed?"
And saying this the hacendero affected to look carefully around him. Don Martial drew himself up.
"Señor Don Sylva de Torrés," he said in a firm voice, "as chance has brought us once again face to face permit me to tell you that few men are so devoted to you as myself."
"You have just proved, caballero."
"Leave that out of sight," he went on hurriedly. "Now that you are free, and can act as you please, command me. What would you of me? I am ready to do anything you please, in order to prove to you how happy I should be in doing you a service."
"That is language I can understand, caballero, and to which I will frankly respond. Important reasons compel me to return to the French colony of Guetzalli, whence the heathens carried me off so treacherously."
"When do you wish to start?"
"At once, if that be possible."
"Everything is possible, caballero. Still, I would call your attention to the fact that we are nearly thirty leagues from that hacienda; that the country in which we now are is a desert; that we should have great difficulty in finding horses: and, with the best will in the world, we cannot, make the journey on foot."