The fellow laughed in my face and said in an impudent tone:
"Well, comrade, don't you know me?".
"No; I have never before seen your ugly phiz," I replied, a trifle angrily.
"Nor have I seen yours; but I know you for all that—Belphegor."
I was startled. "You are Behoric?" I exclaimed. I sent the orderly from the room, then asked:
"How did you manage to find me? You never saw me without a mask."
"I will tell you: I have two magic rings; one I wear on the little finger of my right hand; the other on the little finger of my left hand, both with the setting turned inward. If I say to the rings: 'I want to find my blood-comrade, Belphegor,' one of them turns around on my finger and the setting shows me the way I must go. If I arrive at a point where two roads meet, the other ring shows me which to take. That is how I came here."
The explanation did not altogether satisfy me—the fellow's face made me doubt the truth of it; but I could not deny that I was his blood-comrade. Besides, I entertained a sort of affection for him; we had been good comrades, and had not drank each other's blood for nothing.
"Well," said I, after deliberating a moment, "what brings you here?—here, where nothing is to be got but fiery bullets."
"I came to ask you to exchange bodies."