light of the moon, aided by that of the fire, I could easily see, what I had before noticed, that the hard privations which the Spaniard had endured had left in effaceable traces of mental suffering on his brow, but without altering in the least his noble physiognomy.
"Did you compose those verses yourself," I asked, "which I have so indiscreetly interrupted, and whose originality has struck me so much?"
"No; I only adapted them to an air of my own composition for an affair which it would be too tedious to relate to you."
There was evidently an attempt at concealment in this reply, which whetted my curiosity. I resolved to make a confidant of the young Spaniard by telling him the object of my journey, and the many checks I had experienced since my departure from Mexico.
"Our positions are not dissimilar," said the Spaniard, when I had done. "Like you, I am pursuing a nameless object; but thank God that you have been saved from the dangers that I have undergone."
"Tell me about them," I said. "I like a story told in the open air at night above all, and in the light of a fire like this."
"Be it so," said the Spaniard. "I shall begin by telling you that I am a Biscayan and a nobleman; not by election, like most of my compatriots, but descended from a long line of ancestors, who recognize Lope Chouria as the chief of their ancient clan. My name is Don Jaime de Villalobos. I bear another name here for common use. My mother has the first rank in my affection, then my father, and lastly my country. You now know me, Señor Cavalier. I am now about to tell you of the affair in which I am at present engaged."
