"Why," the count continued, "it appears to me that you let yourself be led away by the pride of rank and hope of gain." "You are mistaken, señor, nothing would have induced me to join the Mexicans if I had not been convinced in my heart that their cause was a good one. This reason alone decided me, and besides," he added in a low voice, as he took a sly glance at the other, "I had a personal motive." The count shook his head dubiously, but made no answer, and the conversation stopped at this point. Four hours later, the Spaniards started again in the hope of reaching their journey's end at eight in the evening. But the count and the adventurer now rode side by side conversing amicably together. CHAPTER XIII. AN ALARM. The journey, begun under rather gloomy auspices, was continued more gaily, in spite of the pride and taciturnity of the Spanish soldiers. The latter, who took a pride in behaving exactly like their master, on seeing the count talking in a friendly way with the adventurer, broke, in their turn, the silence to which they had obstinately condemned themselves since the morning, and interchanged a few remarks, though extremely careful not to raise their voices above an indistinct murmur. Several hours passed, and nothing interrupted the monotony of the journey. The Spaniards had left the banks of the lake and entered a country whose gloomy and desolate appearance was rendered even more sad by the approach of night. There were no lofty trees, no smiling savannahs. On all sides rose overthrown rocks, piled in a disorderly manner on each other, some covered with a velvety moss, others scarce allowing their black hue to be guessed beneath a cloak of brambles and cherfoil. In some spots, the water forced its way through crevices in the rock, and rolled through green strata, glistening with mica. A nameless stream with difficulty found a passage through the midst of this chaos, and occupied two-thirds of the canyon which the travellers were constrained to follow; at rare intervals, stunted trees were visible: still, as nature ever has her harmony, the breeze ever and anon entered the canyon. Then, as if by enchantment, the mysterious dialogues between the leaves and the wind, the nymphæas and the water, filled this desolate solitude with ineffable choruses. The travellers yielded involuntarily to the depressing influences of the scenery they passed through, the conversation suddenly ceased, and each rode with his hand on his weapon, looking anxiously around and ready to fire at the slightest suspicious movement in the chaparral. The Sumach halted, and thoughtfully examined the gloomy landscape spread out in front of him. "What is the matter?" the count asked him; "What are you thinking about at this moment, caballero?" "I am thinking, señor," the adventurer said, seriously, "that Don Aníbal spoke most sensibly to you this morning, and that you acted very wrong in neglecting his advice and refusing his offer."