"When I acquaint you, senor," replied the Spaniard, his olive cheek glowing for an instant; "when I acquaint you that Catalina de Villa Franca is my betrothed wife, I have, perhaps, sufficiently answered that question."
"Donna Catalina is no more to me than any other lady in Spain," said Ronald, colouring in turn, for he knew the assertion to be false.
"Enough!" replied the condé fiercely. "I did not come here to chatter, senor,—my time is too short for that. You have brought pistols, of course?"
"I have no weapon but my sword; and I am perfect master of it."
"We will prove that in good time. I, however, am better provided." He took from his holsters a very handsome pair of long horse-pistols. "Choose one, senor; and here are ball-cartridges enough to last us till sunset, which you are scarcely like to see, if my hand is as steady as it usually is."
Ronald replied only by a scornful smile, and they proceeded each to load.
"Now, then," said Truxillo, "we are all ready, I suppose. I will retire to the ruinous wall, and you will please to stand where you are. 'Tis a very convenient distance. But what mean you by bringing an armed soldier with you here?" he exclaimed, his attention being attracted to Evan by the latter, in the excitement of the moment, loosening his bayonet in the sheath.
"He is a private soldier of my own regiment. I had no other friend in Merida to accompany me."
"Friend? A brave soldier requires none to assist him in defence of his honour. You must know, senor, that a Spanish cavalier, in an affair of this sort, seeks no other ally than a sharp blade and sure eye: however, desire your fellow to retire, that there may be no treachery. We draw lots for the first shot, I presume?"
"Agreed, condé," answered Ronald, whose Highland blood was all on fire, and whose anger had been gradually increasing at the cavalier's insolent demeanour and assumed tone of superiority, until he longed with a fierce eagerness to chastise him by the infliction of some severe bodily injury,—if not totally to deprive him of life. Lots were drawn by Doctor Mendizabal, and the first shot fell to the condé. An expression of triumphant malice glittered in his large dark eyes; he smiled sourly, showing his white teeth, and retreated close to the ruinous wall, where he planted himself about sixteen paces off, and examined with the most scrupulous accuracy the flint, priming, and muzzle of his pistol.