LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

or 'Hola!' —click went Ramon's knife into the lover's back! Such a pair of fools as they were!"

      "And did this – this Rafael de Flores die?" asked Etienne, divided between a hope that he had, and a fear that if so he might be balked of his revenge.

      "Die? No – he was about again before many weeks. But this foolish Ramon took straightway to the hills, because he thought that his wife was false and that he had killed her cousin and lover."

      And even as Don Juan was speaking these words a young man of a slender form and particularly lithe carriage, dressed in the height of Madrid fashion, walked into the café with a smiling flourish of his hat to the company.

      "A glass of vermuth, Esteban," he said, "and if any of these gentlemen will join me I shall feel honoured. Be good enough to tell them who I am, Gaspar, my friend."

      "Señor cavalier," said the valiant man of Sarria, planting the butt of his blunderbuss firmly on the ground that he might lean upon it, and as it were more officially make the important introduction, "this is no other than the only son of our rich and distinguished alcalde, Señor Don Rafael de Flores, concerning whom you have already heard some speech."

      And Gaspar, who knew his place, stood back for the impressive civilities which followed. The jaws of the villagers dropped as they saw the three foreigners with one accord raise their hats from their heads and make each a reverence after his kind. Rollo, the tragical Scot, swept back his sombrero-brim in a grand curve as if it bore a drooping plume. John Mortimer jerked his beaver vertically off and clapped it down again as if he had a spite at the crown, while M. Etienne turned out his toes and in his elbows, as he bowed sharply at the waist with a severe and haughty expression, without, however, taking his hat from his head.

      "I must do the honours, I see," said Rollo, laughing, "since we have no local trumpeter to do them for us. (Where in the world is that sullen dog, our most faithful Galician?) This to the left is Monsieur de Saint Pierre, count of that name. Then next Mr. John Mortimer of Chorley in England, and as for me I am Rollo Blair of Blair Castle in the county of Fife, at your service."

      At this point the aforesaid M. de Saint Pierre stepped forward. He had drawn out his card-case and selected a pasteboard with the care and deliberation with which a connoisseur may choose a cigar.

      "I have the honour to present Señor Don Rafael with my cartel of defiance," he said simply.

      The young man thus addressed stood a long moment dumb and fixed in the middle of the floor, gazing at the engraved lines on the card, which he had mechanically accepted, without comprehending their meaning.

      "A cartel!" he stammered at last; "impossible. I can have no cause of quarrel with this gentleman from France. I do not even know him!"

      But Etienne had all the science of the affair of honour at his finger-ends.

      "I have nothing to say, sir," he replied, frigidly; "I refer you to my second!"

      And he turned to his nearest companion, who happened to be John Mortimer. The Englishman, however, had but imperfectly understood.

      "Well," he said in his best Spanish, "I am prepared to treat for any quantity, provided the quality be to my satisfaction. But mind, the terms are, 'delivered on the quay at Barcelona.' No more Priorato pigs in pokes for John Mortimer of Chorley."

      He relapsed into English with the last clause, and sticking his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat, he waited Don Rafael's reply to his ultimatum.

      "Holy Virgin, are they all mad?" that young gentleman was crying in a passion of despair when Rollo stepped forward and bowed courteously.

      "The matter is briefly this, as I understand it," he said. "My friend, M. Etienne de Saint Pierre, has been in terms of considerable amity with a certain young lady – whose name I need not repeat in a public place. He has been given to understand that you claim a similar high position in her favour. If this be so, Señor, my principal wishes to end the difficulty by a duel to the death, so that the young lady may not be put to the painful necessity of making a choice between two such gallant men. I make it quite clear, do I not? Two of you love one lady. The lady cannot accept both. You fight. There remains but one. The lady is in no difficulty! Do you both agree?"

      "I agree most heartily," said Etienne, rubbing his hands cheerfully, and practising feints in the air with his forefinger.

      "But not I – not I!" cried Don Rafael, with sudden frenzy; "I do not agree – far from it, indeed. I would have you know that I am a married man. My wife is waiting for me at home at this moment. I must go. I must, indeed. Besides, I am under age, and it is murder in the first degree to shoot an unarmed man. I am not in love with any person. I make claims to no lady's affection. I am a married man, I tell you, gentlemen – I was never in love with anybody else. I told my wife so only this morning!"

      "Not with Doña Concha Cabezos of this village?" said Etienne, sternly. "I am advised that you have been in the habit of making that claim."

      "Never, never," cried the gallant, wringing his hands. "Saints, angels, and martyrs – if this should come to my wife's ears! I swear to you I do not know any Concha – I never heard of her. I will have nothing to do with her! Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I have an engagement!"

      And with this hurried adieu the little man in the Madrid suit fairly bolted out of the café, and ran down the street at full speed.

      And in the dusk of the gable arches the Gallegan sat with his head sunk low in his hands.

      "What a fool, Ramon Garcia! What a mortal fool you were – to have thought for a moment that your little Dolóres could have loved a thing like that!"

      CHAPTER XII

      THE CRYING OF A YOUNG CHILD

      "And now, gentlemen," said Monsieur Etienne grandly, "where is the young gentleman who traduced in my hearing the fair fame of Doña Concha Cabezos? Ma foi, I will transfer my cartel to him!"

      Then, with great dignity, uprose the ancient valiant man of the octroi of Sarria, for he felt that some one must vindicate the municipality.

      "Cavalier," he said, with a sweeping bow which did honour at once to himself and to the place in which they were assembled, "there may be those amongst us who have spoken too freely, and on their behalf and my own I convey to you an apology if we have unwittingly offended. In a venta – I beg my nephew's pardon – in a café, like the Café de Madrid, men's tongues wag fast without harm being intended to any man, much less to any honourable lady. So it was in this case, and in the name of the loyal town of Sarria, I express my regret. If these words be sufficient, here is my hand. The Café de Madrid, sir, begs your acceptance of a bottle of the best within its cellars. But if your lordship be still offended, there are twenty men here who are ready to meet you on the field of honour. For I would have you know, gentlemen, that we are also Caballeros. But it must be with the weapons in the use of which we have some skill – the cloak wrapped about the left arm, the Manchegan knife in the right hand. Or, if our Aragonese custom please not your honours, I make myself personally responsible for any words that may have been spoken; aye, and will be proud to stand out upon the hillside and exchange shots with you till you are fully satisfied – standing up, man to man, at one hundred yards. This I do because the offence was given in my nephew's café, and because for forty years I have been called the Valiant Man of Sarria!"

      The ancient Gaspar stood before them, alternately patting the stock of his blunderbuss and pulling the ragged ends of his long white moustachios, till Rollo, who could recognise true courage when he saw it, stepped up to him, and making a low bow held out a hand, which the other immediately grasped amid plaudits from the assembled company.

      "You are a brave man, a valiant man, indeed, Señor – " he was beginning.

      "Gaspar Perico, at your service – of the wars of the Independence!" interrupted the old man, proudly.

      "You have not forgotten the use of your weapons, Señor Valiente!" said the young Scot. "Take off your hat, Etienne," he added in French, "and accept the old fellow's apology as graciously as you can. I am your second, and have arranged the matter for you already!"

      With

Скачать книгу