As the little company swept round the square, the two horsemen saluted our pavilion. Don Pedro lifted his plumed hat high, and I saw that his face was pale from his recent wound, but the bold black eyes were as bright as ever they had been before.
I drew back hastily from the front of the pavilion and made no pretence of returning his salute. Then, for the first time since I had taken my seat beside her, Doña Orosia spoke to me.
"Why such scant courtesy?" she asked, with lifted brows.
"Madame," I answered, "had my betrothed been here at my side, an honoured guest, I would have had more graciousness at my command."
"What!" she exclaimed, "have you not yet had time to forget your quarrelsome cavalier?"
"I will forget him, madame, when I cease to remember the treachery of those who called themselves his entertainers."
She flushed angrily. "Your tongue has more of spirit than your face. I wonder that you have the courage to say this to me."
"I dare, because I have nothing more to lose, madame!"
"Say you so? Would you rather I gave you into Melinza's keeping?"
"Nay!" I cried, "you could not—such unfaith would surpass the limits of even Spanish treachery! And you would not—it would please you better if he never set eyes upon my face again! I only wonder that you should have brought me here to-day!"