"The villain is dead," the general exclaimed, furiously.
"You are perfectly well aware of the contrary," Señor Valentine answered, "and to remove any doubts you may still happen to have, I will give you the proof. Don Martial," he said aloud, "come in, pray, and tell General Guerrero yourself that you are not dead."
"Oh!" the general muttered furiously, "this man is a demon."
At this moment the door opened, and a new personage entered the room.
The man who now entered the hall of mirrors was dressed like the riders who promenade at the Bucareli, and gallop at carriage doors--that is to say, in trousers with silk stripes down the sides, and a broad-brimmed hat decorated with a double gold string and tassels.
He walked gracefully up to Don Sebastian, still holding his hat in his right hand, bowed to him with that exquisite grace of which the Mexicans alone seem to have the privilege, and thrusting his hand into his side, he said, with an accent of cutting sarcasm, and in a harsh, metallic voice--
"Do you recognize me, Don Sebastian, and do you believe that I am really alive, and that it is not the ghost of Martial the Tigrero which has come from the grave to address you?"
At the same moment Belhumeur's clever, knowing face could be seen peering through the doorway. With his eyes obstinately fixed on the general, he seemed to be impatiently expecting an answer, which the latter, struggling with several different feelings, evidently hesitated to give. Still, he was compelled to form a resolution, so he rose and looked the Tigrero boldly in the face.
"Who are you, señor?" he said, in a firm voice, "and by what right do you question me?"
"Well played," said Valentine, with a laugh; "by heaven, caballero, it is a pleasure to contend with you, for, on my soul, you are a rude adversary."
"Do you think so?" Don Sebastian asked, with a hoarse laugh.
"Certainly," the hunter continued, "and I am delighted to bear my testimony to the fact; hence you had better yield at once, for you are in a dilemma from which you cannot escape, not even by a master stroke."
There was a silence, lasting some minutes. At length the general seemed to make up his mind, for he turned to Belhumeur, who was still listening, and bowed to him with ironical politeness.