This time you can the same paper

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 regorafenib .
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, se?ores? 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 statuesque immobility also had its effect on them. Then after a moment’s silence, he continued:
No, we have not forgotten that a Christobal de la Torre was with Pizarro. We know the whole story, sir. When Pizarro left the Spanish colony of Panama, vaguely guessing that before him was an empire even greater than the one which Cortes had just given to Charles V.; when, after a thousand dangers, he saw himself on the point of being deserted by all, he drew his sword and with the point drew a line in the sand, from east to west. Then, turning toward the south, he said: ‘Comrades, on this side are danger, privation, hunger, nakedness, ruin and death; behind us, comfort and mediocrity. But to the south are also Peru and its riches, glory and immortality. Let each one decide for himself which is best for a hidalgo of Castille!’ And with those words, he crossed the line. He was followed by Ruiz, his brave pilot, then by Pedro de Candia, a knight born, as his name shows, in one of the Greek islands. Eleven others crossed that line, ready to follow their chief to the world’s end. And among those eleven was Juan-Christobal de la Torre. We know it! Se?or, we know it!”
And, pray, who are you, se?or?” demanded the Marquis brutally, exasperated by the stranger’s manner, though he had in truth remained studiously polite regorafenib
.
As if not hearing, as if intent on doing homage to the exploits of those dead Conquistadors, the stranger continued:
Is there not, se?ores, is there not, se?orita, something gigantic in this spectacle? This little handful of men confidently starting on an expedition as wild as the wildest deeds of their knights-errant, a handful of men, se?ores, without clothes or food, almost without arms, left by their comrades on a deserted mountain-side to start on the conquest of one of the most powerful empires ever known.