Around in the crevices of the rocks grew a few dwarf oaks and thick bushes of myrtles. Franz lowered a torch, and saw by the mass of cinders that had accumulated that he was not the first to discover this retreat, which was, doubtless, one of the halting-places of the wandering visitors of Monte Cristo.
As for his suspicions, once on terra firma, once that he had seen the indifferent, if not friendly, appearance of his hosts, his anxiety had quite disappeared, or rather, at sight of the goat, had turned to appetite. He mentioned this to Gaetano, who replied that nothing could be more easy than to prepare a supper when they had in their boat, bread, wine, half a dozen partridges, and a good fire to roast them by.
“Besides,” added he, “if the smell of their roast meat tempts you, I will go and offer them two of our birds for a slice.”
“You are a born diplomat,” returned Franz; “go and try.”
Meanwhile the sailors had collected dried sticks and branches with which they made a fire. Franz waited impatiently, inhaling the aroma of the roasted meat, when the captain returned with a mysterious air.
“Well,” said Franz, “anything new?—do they refuse?”
“On the contrary,” returned Gaetano, “the chief, who was told you were a young Frenchman, invites you to sup with him.”
“Well,” observed Franz, “this chief is very polite, and I see no objection—the more so as I bring my share of the supper.”
“Oh, it is not that; he has plenty, and to spare, for supper; but he makes one condition, and rather a peculiar one, before he will receive you at his house.”
“His house? Has he built one here, then?”