"Rapiers."

"Oh! that is quite another thing."

And the whole party became interested in the duel.

"Alvaro has but little practice. The Colonel will have the best of it; he is the better man, and he fights with great energy."

"Too much," said Pepe Castro, taking out his handkerchief, after throwing away his cigar-end, and wiping the mouthpiece with extreme care.

Every one looked at him, for he had the reputation of being a first-rate swordsman.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do. Energy is a good thing up to a certain point; beyond that it is dangerous, especially with rapiers. With the broadsword something may be done by a rapid succession of attacks; it may at any rate bother the adversary. But with pointed weapons you must keep a sharp look-out.

Alvaro is not much given to sword-play, but he is very cool, very keen, and his lunge is perfection. The Colonel had better be careful."

"The quarrel is about Alvaro's cousin?"

"So it would seem."

"What the devil can she matter to him?"

"Pshaw! who knows!"

"As he is not in love with her I do not understand."

"Nothing is impossible."

"The girl is a perfect minx! This summer at Biarritz, she and that Fonseca boy behaved in such a way on the terrace of the Casino at night, that they would have been worth photographing by a flash light!"

"Why, Cobo, there, before he left, figured in some dissolving views in the garden."

"Alas! too true; that girl compromised me desperately," said Cobo in a tone of comical despair.

"Well, you had not much to lose. You lost your character by that affair with Teresa," said Alcantara.

"Beauty and misfortune always go hand in hand," Ramon added ironically.

"_Et tu_, Ramon!" exclaimed Cobo with affected surprise. "Why the time is surely coming when the birds will carry guns."

"Well, gentlemen, I confess my weakness," said Leon Guzman. "I cannot go near that girl without feeling ill."

"And the damsel cannot be near so sweet and fair a youth as you without feeling ill too," said Alcantara.

"Do you want to flatter me, Rafael?"

"Yes; into lending me the key of your rooms to-morrow, and not coming in all the afternoon. I want it."

"But there is a servant who devotes himself to water-colour painting every afternoon."

"I will give him two dollars to go and paint elsewhere."

"And a lady opposite who spends all her time in looking out of her window to see what is done or left undone in my rooms."

"She will have a real treat! I will shut the Venetians.--I say, Manolito, do you mean to pa.s.s the whole of your youth stretched on that divan without uttering a word?"

Davalos was in fact lying at full length in a gloomy and dejected manner without even lifting his head to notice his friend's sallies. But on hearing his name, he moved, surprised and annoyed.

"If you were in my place you would feel little inclined for jesting, Rafael," said he with a sigh.

It should be said that the young Marquis, who had never had a very brilliant intelligence, had now for some time been suffering from a distinct cloud on his brain. He was slightly cracked, as it is vulgarly termed. His friends were aware that this depression was all the result of his rupture with Amparo, the woman who had since thrown herself on the Duke's protection. She had, in a very short s.p.a.ce, consumed his fortune, but he still was desperately in love with her. They treated him with a certain protecting kindness that was half satirical; but they abstained from banter about his lady-love, unless occasionally by some covert allusions, because whenever they touched on the subject, Manolo was liable to attacks of fury resembling madness. He was hardly more than thirty, but already bald, with a yellow skin, pale lips, and dulled eyes. His sister-in-law had taken charge of his four little children. He lived in an hotel on a pension allowed him by an old aunt whose heir he was supposed to be; on the strength of this prospect some money-lenders were willing to keep him going.

"If I were in your shoes, Manolito, do you know what I would do? I would marry that aunt."

The audience laughed, for Manolo's aunt was a woman of eighty.

"Well, well," said he, in a piteous voice, "you know very well that you have not had to spend the morning fighting with unconscionable usurers only to end by giving in--in the most shameful way," he added in an undertone.

"Don't talk to me! Don't you know, Manolo, that I have to get a new bell for my front door once a month, because my duns wear it out? But I take it philosophically."

He went up to Davalos, and laying a hand on his shoulder, he said in so low a voice that no one else could hear him:

"Seriously, Manolo, I mean it, I would marry my aunt. What would you lose by it? She is old--so much the better; she will die all the sooner.

As soon as you are married, you will have the management of her fortune, and need not count up the years she still hopes to live. What you want, like me, is hard cash. Make no mistake about that. If we had it, we would get as fat as Cobo Ramirez. Besides, if you were rich, you could make Amparo send Salabert packing--don't you see?"

Davalos looked wide-eyed at his adviser, not sure whether he spoke in jest or in earnest. Seeing no symptom of mockery in Alcantara's face, he began to be sentimental; speaking of his former mistress with such enthusiasm and reverence as might have made any one laugh. The scheme did not seem to him preposterous; he began to discuss it seriously and consider it from all sides. Rafael listened with well-feigned interest, encouraging him to proceed by signs and nods. No one could have supposed that he was simply fooling him, while from time to time, taking advantage of a moment when Manolo gazed at the toes of his boots, seeking some word strong enough to express his pa.s.sion, Rafael was making grimaces at the group, who looked on with amus.e.m.e.nt and curiosity.

The door of the room presently opened and Alvaro Luna came in. His friends hailed him with affectionate pleasure.

"Bravo! Bravo! Here is the condemned criminal."

"How dismal he looks!"

"Like a man on the brink of the grave!"

The new-comer smiled faintly, and glanced round the room. Alvaro Luna, Conde de Soto, was a man of about thirty-eight or forty, slightly built, of medium height with hard, keen eyes and a bilious complexion.

"Have any of you seen Juanito Escalona?" he asked.

"Yes," said some one. "He was here half an hour ago. He told me that you expected him, and that he would return punctually at a quarter to four."

"Good, I will wait for him," was the answer, and Luna quietly came forward, and sat down among the party.

Then the chaff began again.

"Here, let me feel your pulse," said Rafael, taking him by the wrist, and pulling out his watch.

The Count smiled and surrendered his hand.