"By Jove!" the hunter said, as he lay down in the hammock, and lit a cigar, "It must be confessed that this Don Fadrique, this Count de Melgosa, is a somewhat mysterious being, and guards himself with as much care as if he had a kingdom to defend; but what do I care? Thank heaven! I have not to stay here long, and have no intention of carrying his wigwam by storm." He looked round and saw that not only had cigars been brought for him, but that refreshments had been added in the shape of several _botas_, containing pulque, mezcal, and Catalonian refino. "Come," he said, "I was prejudiced against my host. He is decidedly a famous fellow." After this consoling reflection the hunter rose and went to the table, doubtless with the intention of tasting the liquors upon it, and spending in the most agreeable way possible the hours at his disposal. The dinner was rather gloomy. The countess was not present, but sent her apologies to the hunter, who was not broken hearted at her absence; for, in spite of the old lady's gracious manners, he felt constrained in her presence. When the dinner was ended the count repeated that it was impossible for him to accompany him on the morrow, but would give him a sure guide. He handed him a letter of recommendation for the governor, and, after renewing to the Canadian his promise of joining him on the following day, he took leave of him for the night, and retired. The adventurer was not sorry to be alone. In spite of the count's attention he retained in his manner toward him a certain aristocratic hauteur, which hurt him, although it was impossible for him to display the dissatisfaction he felt. The same silent domestic who had already served him led Oliver to his room, and took leave of him after bidding him good night. The hunter, wearied more by the inactivity to which he was condemned for some hours than by his morning's ride, threw himself on the leather-covered frame which serves as a bed in all Mexican houses, shut his eyes, and speedily fell asleep.