I. “In our absence, quite right. But now that the Padre has returned, as well as myself, no further precaution is requisite.”
He. “Pardon me. I take quite a different view of the subject.”
I (a little annoyed). “Explain yourself.”
He. “In case you should receive satisfactory intelligence that my countrymen are approaching in force, and supposing you should in consequence deem it requisite to evacuate this hamlet and fall back on Vittoria, permit me to inquire, would you not feel it your duty to invite me to accompany you as a prisoner?”
I. “Probably.”
He. “Of course you would. Now, that being your duty, I have been led to consider what, under the circumstances, is my duty. And it strikes me, I confess, that in the prospect of a speedy reunion with my countrymen, the most proper thing I can do is—to remain where I am.”
I. “Permit me, however, to suggest, that if you persist in this view, and if we should be induced in consequence to adopt vigorous measures, you may find yourself, on their proving successful, very awkwardly situated among the people of this place. You know their feeling, and I might no longer be able to restrain them.”
He. “Permit me, on the other hand, to suggest, that should I maintain myself in this house till my countrymen arrive, the exploit will cover me with glory, my comrades will rush to congratulate me, and I shall be appreciated throughout the French army. In short, M. le Capitaine, I consider my actual position impregnable; and never in my life did I feel more completely at my ease than I do at this moment. Benevolently anxious to prevent the needless effusion of blood, I tender you my disinterested advice to abstain from any rash attempt; and, by no means unwilling to impart useful information, I beg to state that, while your sick men in the hospital have next to no ammunition, I, on my part, have secured all the powder and shot in the village. The Padre’s store, the Alcalde’s, and—pardon me—your own, are all in my safe keeping.”
Beginning to feel out of temper, I made an appeal. “I thought, Monsieur, in dealing with an officer and a gentleman, I should, at any rate, find security in his plighted word. Remember, you are on your parole.”
“Ah!” he replied with much gravity, “you touch my honour. I cannot permit that. But, Monsieur, I think you scarcely recollect. My parole? Let me see. What was my parole? That I would not escape from this place. Very good. Here I am. If my own countrymen come and fetch me away, that, of course, is quite another affair.”