While galloping, the partisan looked searchingly around him. As far as the eye could see, the road was entirely deserted. Don Felix halted and bent over his horse's neck, as if wishing to arrange some buckle, but while patting his noble animal he twice repeated the croak of a rook. At once the harsh cry of the puffin rose from the bushes that bordered the right hand side of the road; the branches were then parted--a man appeared--it was Colonel Don Juan Melendez de Gongora. Don Felix did not appear at all surprised at seeing him; on the contrary, he advanced hurriedly towards him. "Return to your ambush, Colonel," he said, "you know that there is an eye in every leaf. If I am seen alone on the road my presence will arouse no suspicions; but you, Cuerpo de Cristo! You must not be seen. We can converse equally well at a distance, as the ears able to overhear us are those of friends." "You are always prudent, Don Felix." "I, not at all; I merely wish to avenge myself on those bandits who have plundered so many magnificent haciendas, and hatred renders a man prudent." "Whatever be the motive that impels you, it gives you good inspirations, that is the main point. But let us return to our business: what do you want with me?" "Merely to know two things." "What are they?" "Whether General Rubio is really satisfied with the plan I submitted to him?" "You have a proof of it before you; if he were not so, should I be here?" "That is true." "Now for the second." "That is of an extremely delicate nature." "Ah, ah! You pique my curiosity," the Colonel said, laughingly. Don Felix frowned and lowered his voice, as it were involuntarily. "It is very serious, Don Juan," he continued; "I wish, before the battle, to know if you have retained towards me that esteem and friendship with which you deigned to honour me at the Larch-tree hacienda?" The Colonel turned away in embarrassment. "Why ask that question at this moment?" he remarked. Don Felix turned pale and fixed a flashing glance upon him. "Answer me, I implore yon, Don Juan," he said, pressingly. "Whatever you may think, whatever opinion you may have of me, I wish to know it; it must be so." "Do not press me, I beg, Don Felix. What can you care for any opinion I may have, which is isolated and unimportant?" "What can I care, do you ask?" he exclaimed, hotly; "but it is, indeed, useless to press you farther, for I know all I wish to know. Thank you, Don Juan, I ask no more. When a man of so noble a character and such a loyal heart as yours condemns the conduct of another man, it is because that conduct is really blameable."