“’Tis true, I see it with pity. Now you will see what we will do. At last the sergeant has fallen behind and will not see us. I’m going to untie you to give you a little rest.”
“But will not the sergeant see it? Thank you much; but will he not see?”
“Have no concern; anyway it is very dark.”
And the soldier leaned over and untied the knot which held Roque’s hands.
“May God reward you, friend,” said he, stretching his arms in front of him; “I was very tired. But tell me, why are your hands so cold? Are you chilled?”
“Nothing is the matter with me. The air is damp. But, take a cigarette. Here is the light;”—and he reined up.
The unsuspecting Roque rolled the cigarette and lighted it by that which the soldier was smoking. They then went on, talking. After talking for a little time of indifferent matters the gendarme said:
“Man, friend, I sympathize with you and it pains me that you are going to jail.”
“There is no alternative, friend! Some day I will be out. Anyway the jail does not eat people.”
“Good; but it is always atrocious to be a prisoner, and God knows for how long. Why not escape. I will dissemble and you will run. I will fire into the air and you race along into the country and no one can find you.”