"Come, General," Buonaparte went on, "we will go and see the other prisoner."
Then he passed out, with his companion.
After walking a few paces, they came to a door, and this having been unlocked, they found themselves in a smaller cell than that in which the three Arabs were confined. Here, however, there was but one occupant. Yusuf, for he it was, was, unlike the other captives, unbound, and was pacing his cell with restless step.
At the entrance of Buonaparte and his companion, he scowled at them; then broke into a torrent of angry words, that both his hearers found difficult to follow.
When he ceased speaking, Buonaparte addressed him.
"You are of the tribe of Auim?" No reply. "Speak and I will free you, if you tell me what I want to know."
"I accept," came the sullen answer; "you do not look like a man who lies. Say on."
Buonaparte put several questions, which Yusuf answered; then he went on to relate what the reader already knows; how that he had seen St. Just shot at and fall headlong from the rock.
"Ha, ha!" he ended with a fiendish chuckle, "He is dead, sure enough. I knew he would die when they shot at him." Here he stopped.
"How?" asked Buonaparte, who, during the recital, had stood leaning with his back against the door and idly kicking one foot against the lintel.