"I do refuse. I have injured you deeply; it would be a fine thing if I killed you besides.... And to allow you to kill me—frankly, I have just as little notion."
"There is one infallible means of making you fight: I will slap your face in public."
"I don't doubt that you would do so. I regard you as a man of courage; you would do it even though you thereby signed your own death-warrant. Whatever weapons we should choose, you cannot be ignorant that I have ninety chances to ten of killing or wounding you...."
Miguel made a scornful gesture.
"I know that this does not terrify you; but let us reason about it: What advantage would it give you to die? Would it wipe out your sister's dishonor? It would not only not wipe it out, but it would deprive her of the only support that she has in the world. Then let us suppose—and it is much to suppose—that you killed me. Your sole advantage would be in publishing the disgrace which now with a little caution can remain unknown."
Don Alfonso and Miguel both spoke in low tones, so as not to be heard from the outside; but the gestures and accent of each, and especially of the latter, were so energetic and excited, that they very well took the place of loud words. Julia sat on the sofa, motionless, and with her head bent low.
"Do you imagine that I am going to accept this logic with which you wish to avoid the unpleasantness of exposing your life? Have no such thought, even though there were one probability against a thousand of killing me, it would be a pleasure for me to face you with sword or pistol. How far the set resolution that I entertain of dying or of killing you goes to put us on an equality, you know perfectly well. Therefore drop these arguments worthy only of a coward, and be kind enough to expect to spend as painful hours as those which you have taken so much pains to make us suffer."
"I see that you mean to insult me. Do so with impunity; I grant you the privilege.... But I warn you not to let an ill-sounding word pass your lips in public."
"In private and in public I am resolved to do the same! You wretch!" exclaimed Miguel, beside himself. "Everywhere I shall declare that you are a knave, a cowardly assassin, who fights duels only with those unable to defend themselves. In order that you may see how much fear I have of you, take this."
Saying these words, he leaped like a lion upon Saavedra, who had risen to his feet, expecting some such move. Before he could raise his hand, the Andalusian seized him by the arms, and brutally hurled him back into the middle of the room, so that he reeled. Miguel was just on the point of springing at him again; but at that instant he found himself held by more gentle arms—those of his sister, who, with her face distorted, her eyes flashing, her voice choking with sobs, said:—