"Pardieu! you are not so far wrong in your philosophy, friend. Still I stick to my text, and if you care to hold further speech with me it will be well to declare yourself. I have ever been a bit careful as to my associates."
"It makes small odds, Chevalier, who I am; nor will it greatly aid you to learn my name, which is plain Geoffrey Benteen, without even a handle of any kind to it, nor repute, save that of an honest hunter along the upper river. I say who I am makes small odds, for I come not with application for membership into your social circle, nor with card of introduction from some mutual friend."
His expressive eyebrows uplifted in surprise.
"Then, Monsieur, pray relieve my natural curiosity, and tell me why I am thus honored by your presence?"
"To aid your escape from this hole, God willing. That is, provided you rouse up from lethargy, and bear your part as becomes a man."
I spoke with heat, for his indifference irritated me; yet I failed to note that my words made the slightest impression on him, for I did merely mark a slight shrugging of the shoulders, while he crossed his legs more comfortably, rolling some fresh tobacco, before he took trouble to reply.
"You are evidently of a choleric temper, friend Benteen. Great Heavens, what names have you English!" he exclaimed. "And you need greatly to practise better control over yourself, as such weakness is apt to lead one into just such scrapes as this of ours. Sacre! it hath been my failing also, otherwise would I now be a fat Major of the Line instead of a poor devil condemned to the volley, for no worse crime than an over-hot head. But seriously, Monsieur, and I am truly of a most grave disposition, it is not so easy to accomplish that which you propose with so glib a tongue. Imagine you I have lain here, under tender Spanish care, all these weeks, where, as I do most solemnly affirm, not so much as a glass of decent wine has found way down my throat, nor have I possessed a bit of pomade for the proper arrangement of my locks—which will account for their present dishevelment—Saint Cecilia! but that moon-faced Moor who commands the guard merely laughed at me when I did request a comb;—think you, I say, I have been through all this without calculating chances for escape? But, pardieu! what use? A man of sense will not dream such fool dreams. This I know, there are three sentries yonder in the passageway, a good dozen more under arms in the guard-room beyond, with still others vigilantly pacing the deck above. What use, I say, for did not poor Villere try it, and, before he had covered twenty feet, had three bullets in his brain? Nay, Master Benteen, to endeavor running such a gantlet would only give me my fill of Spanish lead before the hour set, which, they tell me, comes with the sunrise."
He arose languidly to his feet, paused a moment in front of the cracked mirror to recurl his long moustaches, and then, turning about, extended a white hand toward me, smiling pleasantly as he did so.
"Faith, I fear I shall not look my best when it is all over, but if so it will be the fault of the Dons—they seem most careless as to requirements of the toilet. Yet I would not have you deem me ungrateful, and I thank you heartily, Monsieur. But if it be my turn to die, and I doubt it not,—for who ever heard of mercy in the black heart of a Spaniard?—then it is best I front it as becomes a gentleman of France, not with a bullet in my back, as though I fled from fate with the faint heart of a coward. Nay, good friend, if death is to be my portion, I prefer meeting it with a smile, and thus prove, at the ending, worthy of my race."
There was a certain dignified manliness in his speech and manner which for the moment caused me to doubt my earlier reading of his character. There might be steel beneath the velvet glove of this fair courtier.