Before Augustus could answer, Paul Lisimon pushed aside the Captain and clasped Camillia in his arms.
"My Camillia," he cried; "my beloved, how is it that I find you here—here, in a gambling-house at this hour of the night?"
"Ask me no questions," muttered the Spanish girl, "only take me from this place. My brain is bewildered by what I have undergone."
"But this man—has he dared to insult you—to entrap you hither?" asked Paul, pointing to Augustus Horton, who stood at bay, while the Captain and the sailor threatened him with their drawn cutlasses.
"He has."
"You hear this fainting girl," exclaimed Paul, still holding Camillia clasped in his left arm, while with his right he felt for a pistol in the pocket of his waistcoat.
"Prendergills—Joe!—you are witnesses of the place in which we have found the only daughter of Don Juan Moraquitos! There is some foul plot here, and that man, Augustus Horton, is the mover of it. To-morrow, sir, you shall account to me for this."
The planter laughed mockingly. "Account to you, Mr. Paul Lisimon; to you—a thief! an escaped felon! The citizens of Louisiana do not cross swords with such as you. You would have done wiser to keep clear of New Orleans. Above all, it would have been better for you had you refrained from crossing my path."
He touched a bell in the wall behind him, and it rang through the house with a shrill peal.
"Now, Mr. Lisimon," he said, "we are quits."