"Come, my dear count, you are pushing your mistrust too far. There are honest men everywhere, even in that France that you hate, and this cavalier is of the number. Your hand, Señor, and au revoir. Perhaps we shall meet again in more favourable circumstances; then I hope you will accord me your friendship, as I have already offered you mine." "With all my heart, sir," said the painter, warmly pressing the hand which was held out to him, and only answering the words of the Count by a smile of disdain. "Now, thank God, this grave discussion has terminated," pursued the captain, laughing, "I believe that all our affairs here are finished for the night, my dear count, and that it is time to retire." "We have only stayed too long here; like you, I think we ought to leave as soon as possible," answered the count, with a morose air. "If you will permit me, I will accompany you as far as the square, Señores; seductive as this fête may be, it has no charms for me. I feel the need of repose." "Come, then," said the captain. They then quitted the saloon, and made towards the exit. "On my word," thought the painter, "I am happy to be rid of them at this price, to find myself at last free. As to that dear Monsieur Dubois, I wish him much joy, and especially that he may quickly find another secretary, for he was perfectly wrong in reckoning on me." And the young man joyfully rubbed his hands. Unhappily for him, the series of his troubles had not yet come to an end, as he had rather prematurely flattered himself. At the moment when the three men reached the outer door, and were about to descend the few steps which led into the court of the cabildo: "There they are!" said a voice. Immediately the two sentinels placed at the door crossed their guns and barred the passage. "Come, what now?" murmured the painter, with vexation. "What does this mean?" demanded the count, haughtily. "It means," answered a man, stepping forward, who had been hitherto in the darkness, "that I arrest you in the name of the country, and that you are my prisoners." He who had just spoken this was Captain Quiroga. "We prisoners!" exclaimed the three men. "Yes, you," coldly resumed the captain, "you, Don Jaime de Zúñiga, Count de Mendoza, and you, Captain Don Lucio Ortega, accused of high treason." "Well, and me; what have I to do with all this?" "You, my dear sir, we arrest you as a presumed accomplice of these caballeros, in company of whom you have introduced yourself to the cabildo, and with whom you have been talking a long time." "Ah! That is madness!" exclaimed the painter, at the height of astonishment; "But I am not at all a friend of these caballeros." "Enough!" coldly answered the captain; "Now, gentlemen, give up the arms that you probably conceal in your clothing if you do not wish to be searched."