"No one must lay hands on me," he said, "I have surrendered, and do not intend to resist: go on. I will follow." "He is right," the general said with a laugh; "do not collar him, but leave him the use of his limbs. He is a thorough fighting cock; he has pledged his word and will keep it." "Thanks for that remark, Excellency," the adventurer said; "I see that you are a connoisseur in the matter of men; go on, señores, I am ready to follow you." A party of officers at once surrounded him, and he quitted the room. At the door he perceived the usher, who looked at him impertinently, but he merely shrugged his shoulders in contempt. His escort, without leaving the cabildo, led him through a labyrinth of passages, which would have been puzzling to anyone unacquainted with the gloomy building. "Where the deuce are you leading me, my masters?" the prisoner asked; "Does this palace also contain cells?" "Cells and dungeons," one of the officers replied; "it communicates with the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition." "Come," the Canadian said, with a laugh, "that is very convenient; in that way his Excellency the General can lay hands on his prisoners whenever he thinks proper." This sally made the officers laugh. A moment after they informed the prisoner that they had arrived. They halted, and one of them, who bore a large bunch of keys, selected one, and opened a low and apparently very substantial door; a puff of hot foetid air at once issued from the opening. The Canadian gave an involuntary shudder, but his guardians allowed him no time for reflection; they thrust him unceremoniously into the dungeon, bolted the door upon him, and the prisoner suddenly found himself in complete darkness. "Well," he muttered, so soon as he was alone, "I believe that Diego López was right, and that I acted like an ass in not following his advice." Unfortunately for him, this sensible reflection came too late. CHAPTER XIX. THE DUNGEON. However brave a man may be it is not without a feeling of instinctive terror that he finds himself suddenly cut off from society and shut up far from the company of other men, deprived of light and almost of the vital air necessary for the due play of the lungs. Darkness brings with it sad and despairing thoughts; and however powerfully a man's character may be tempered the first moments he passes in a dungeon, whatever may be the cause that has led him there, are crushing; but, fortunately, hope is the last feeling that breaks down in a man's heart. His thoughts, constantly directed to the future, promptly recall to his heart the courage which had deserted it, and in a few hours, growing accustomed to his dungeon, he shakes off the prostration which had seized upon him, regards the position calmly, and only dreams of the means by which to regain the liberty he has lost, for that is the sole object of his thoughts, desires, and efforts.