The two men uttered an exclamation of surprise and terror; then there was a trampling sound in the shrubbery, and they appeared in front of the young man, each holding a sabre in one hand and a pistol in the other, their countenances distorted by rage and fright. But they suddenly stopped. The young man stood motionless before them, his pistols in his grasp. "Halt, and let us talk it over," said he coolly. This scene had something strange and startling about it. In this little enclosure of orange trees in flower--in the silver rays of the moon, in the midst of a profound calm, in the bosom of that calm nature on which the imposing silence of a night impressed a stamp of majesty--these three men, thus placed face to face, measuring each other with their glances and ready for attack, formed a most striking contrast with what surrounded them. "Talk over the matter!" said the count. "Of what use would that be?" "To prevent killing one another like brutes without knowing why," answered the painter. "A traitor merits death." "I agree with you; but I am not a traitor, since I make myself known to you, when it would have been easy to remain silent until I had discovered all your secrets." This observation--very reasonable for that matter--appeared to produce a certain impression on the two men. "Then, why these arms?" continued the count, in a tone evidently mollified. "To avoid what would have happened had I not taken the precaution to furnish myself with them." "You are not a spy upon us, then?" "By no means; in fact, I was here a good while before you. The sound of your conversation awakened me from a light slumber into which I had fallen, and not caring to be, against your will, a confidant in your secrets, I have decided to warn you." "Who can prove it?" sternly pursued the count. "I presume, caballero," answered the young man, "that you allow yourself to doubt my words?" "Who, then, are you, Señor, that you ought to be thus believed at the first words?" "I!" said the young man, laughing; "Not much compared with you--a poor French painter, but honest, thank God, to the fingers' ends." "Ah! I know him," cried the second stranger, who till that moment had remained silent. "I know him now. Put up your sabre and drop your pistol, my dear count. Arms are not wanted here." "I will do so willingly, if that is your advice, Captain," answered the count, with hesitation. "However, it appears to me that in so serious a position--" "Down with your arms! I tell you," interrupted the captain, who had already put aside his own. "I will answer, body for body, as to this cavalier." "Be it so," said the count; "but prudence--" "What? Since this caballero gives you his word, and this word is corroborated by my own, that is sufficient, it appears to me," pursued the captain.