"On my honor, no. I have ransacked my brains in vain to guess the reason that prevents them shooting us, and I have given it up as a bad job."
"Same with me. At first I fancied they were trying to frighten us by the continued apprehension of death constantly suspended over our heads like another sword of Damocles; but this idea seemed to me too absurd."
"I am entirely of your opinion: still something extraordinary must be occurring."
"What makes you suppose that?"
"Why, for the last two days our worthy jailer, Tio Quesada, has become, not polite to us—for that is impossible—but less brutal. I noticed that he has drawn in his claws, and attempted a grin. It is true that his face is so little accustomed to assume that expression, that the only result he obtains is to make a wretched grimace."
"And you conclude from that?"
"Nothing positive," the general said. "Still I ask myself whence comes this incomprehensible change. It would be as absurd to attribute it to the pity he feels for our position as to suppose the governor will come to ask our pardon for having tried and condemned us."
"Eh?" Don Miguel said with a toss of his head. "All is not over—we are not dead yet."
"That is true; but keep your mind at rest—we shall be so soon."
"Our life is in God's hands. He will dispose of it at His pleasure."