Myself. - But who is it?
Antonio. - One who will come to a strange end, FOR SO IT IS WRITTEN.
The most extraordinary of all the Swiss, he of Saint James, - Der
schatz graber.
Myself. - Not Benedict Mol?
"Yaw, mein lieber herr," said Benedict, pushing open the door which
stood ajar; "it is myself. I met Herr Anton in the street, and
hearing that you were in this place, I came with him to visit you."
Myself. - And in the name of all that is singular, how is it that I
see you in Madrid again? I thought that by this time you were
returned to your own country.
Benedict. - Fear not, lieber herr, I shall return thither in good
time; but not on foot, but with mules and coach. The schatz is
still yonder, waiting to be dug up, and now I have better hope than
ever: plenty of friends, plenty of money. See you not how I am
dressed, lieber herr?
And verily his habiliments were of a much more respectable
appearance than any which he had sported on former occasions. His
coat and pantaloons, which were of light green, were nearly new.
On his head he still wore an Andalusian hat, but the present one
was neither old nor shabby, but fresh and glossy, and of immense
altitude of cone: whilst in his hand, instead of the ragged staff
which I had observed at Saint James and Oviedo, he now carried a
huge bamboo rattan, surmounted by the grim head of either a bear or
lion, curiously cut out of pewter.
"You have all the appearance of a treasure seeker returned from a
successful expedition," I exclaimed.
"Or rather," interrupted Antonio, "of one who has ceased to trade
on his own bottom, and now goes seeking treasures at the cost and
expense of others."
I questioned the Swiss minutely concerning his adventures since I
last saw him, when I left him at Oviedo to pursue my route to
Santander. From his answers I gathered that he had followed me to
the latter place; he was, however, a long time in performing the
journey, being weak from hunger and privation. At Santander he
could hear no tidings of me, and by this time the trifle which he
had received from me was completely exhausted. He now thought of
making his way into France, but was afraid to venture through the
disturbed provinces, lest he should fall into the hands of the
Carlists, who he conceived might shoot him as a spy. No one
relieving him at Santander, he departed and begged his way till he
found himself in some part of Aragon, but where he scarcely knew.
"My misery was so great," said Bennet, "that I nearly lost my
senses. Oh, the horror of wandering about the savage hills and
wide plains of Spain, without money and without hope! Sometimes I
became desperate, when I found myself amongst rocks and barrancos,
perhaps after having tasted no food from sunrise to sunset, and
then I would raise my staff towards the sky and shake it, crying,
lieber herr Gott, ach lieber herr Gott, you must help me now or
never; if you tarry, I am lost; you must help me now, now!
