"El ultimo suspiro!" said the executioner, in an unusually solemn tone.
The viceroy's secretary shuddered, and gazed fixedly and in silence upon the corpse.
"The finest youth in Mexico!" he murmured. And then, as if devils had been goading him, he hurried to the door.
"Show his Señoria a light," cried the alguazil gravely; "and may his dying hour be as easy as that of this unfortunate. By my soul," continued he to the alcalde, "these great men are delicate. They take us for tongs, made to pull their chestnuts out of the fire."
The alcalde nodded.
"Do not forget the prisoner," said he. And with an abrupt "Adios," he left the vault.
"Come, and that quickly," cried the alguazil anxiously; "in a quarter of an hour it might be too late. An alcalde and an alguazil cannot be always blind."
His summons, which had been uttered in a loud tone, was replied to by the appearance of the original occupant of the No. 3 cell, who now re-entered the vault, supported by the two strangers with whom he had quitted it a short time previously.
"Where am I?" he exclaimed.
"In a place which few ever leave alive, Don Manuel," was the answer; "but he that has the Pope for his cousin, as the proverb says, need not fear hell-fire. Nevertheless, let your Señoria beware! Another time it might not be so easy to rob the tiger of his prey."