at the same inn in Pacasmayo, and, the following morning, took the same train for Cajamarca.
They were so engrossed with the landscape of the lower ranges of the Andes that they did not at first notice his presence in their own carriage. He drew their notice to himself in such an unexpected manner that all, without knowing exactly why, experienced a strange feeling of discomfort.
There had been a chorus of exclamations and interjections over the variety of the panorama before them, and they had just entered the wildest gorge imaginable, when the stranger said in a grave voice:
"Do you see that camp, señores? That is where Pizarro's first messengers reached the last King of the Incas."
All turned at the words. The stranger, standing at the back of the observation platform, seemed to see nobody; with arms crossed, he stared out toward the rocky fastnesses at the foot of which the world's greatest adventurer rested for a moment before starting on the conquest of an Empire.
"One of my ancestors was there!" exclaimed the Marquis involuntarily.
"We know it! We know it!" said the stranger, without turning, and in such a voice that the others exchanged astonished glances. His
