The adventurer, shrugging his shoulders, began to whistle as he passed the second door.  Within he found the man he had seen through the chinks of the cabin.  He wore the blue berret cap of the Basques on one side, and, enveloped in an ample cloak, seated on the pack-saddle of a mule, and bending over a large brazier, smoked a cigar, and from time to time drank from a leather bottle at his side.  The light of the brazier showed his full yellow face, as well as the chamber, in which mule-saddles were ranged round the byasero as seats.  He raised his head without altering his position.

“Oh, oh! is it thou, Jacques?” he said.  “Is it thou?  Although ’tis four years since I saw thee, I recognize thee.  Thou art not changed, brigand!  There ’tis still, thy great knave’s face.  Sit down there, and take a drink.”

“Yes, here I am.  But how the devil camest thou here?  I thought thou wert a judge, Houmain!”

“And I thought thou wert a Spanish captain, Jacques!”

“Ah!  I was so for a time, and then a prisoner.  But I got out of the thing very snugly, and have taken again to the old trade, the free life, the good smuggling work.”

“Viva! viva!  Jaleo!”—­[A common Spanish oath.]—­cried Houmain.  “We brave fellows can turn our hands to everything.  Thou camest by the other passes, I suppose, for I have not seen thee since I returned to the trade.”

“Yes, yes; I have passed where thou wilt never pass,” said Jacques.

“And what hast got?”

“A new merchandise.  My mules will come tomorrow.”

“Silk sashes, cigars, or linen?”

“Thou wilt know in time, amigo,” said the ruffian.  “Give me the skin.  I’m thirsty.”

“Here, drink.  It’s true Valdepenas!  We’re so jolly here, we bandoleros!  Ay! jaleo! jaleo! come, drink; our friends are coming.”

“What friends?” said Jacques, dropping the horn.

“Don’t be uneasy, but drink.  I’ll tell thee all about it presently, and then we’ll sing the Andalusian Tirana.”—­[A kind of ballad.]

The adventurer took the horn, and assumed an appearance of ease.

“And who’s that great she-devil I saw out there?” he said.  “She seems half dead.”

“Oh, no! she’s only mad.  Drink; I’ll tell thee all about her.”

And taking from his red sash a long poniard denticulated on each side like a saw, Houmain used it to stir up the fire, and said with vast gravity: 

“Thou must know first, if thou dost not know it already, that down below there [he pointed toward France] the old wolf Richelieu carries all before him.”

“Ah, ah!” said Jacques.