“Sacre! are you also one of us?  Surely, I have no recollection of your face.”

“I am one in so far as I now face the same fate at the hands of the Spaniards, although, it is true, I had no part in your uprising.  I am not of your race.”

He laughed easily, passing one slender, white hand carelessly through his long hair.

“Pah! you scarcely need tell me that, for the taste of the French tongue seems ill-suited to your lips.  Yet I would have you speak out more plainly!  I play not easily into the hands of strangers.”

“Why not?  You could hardly be worse off than you are now.”

“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