“Of fat!” Don Diego corrected.
“What has become of the wild blood that coursed your veins for a few moons?” Don Audre Ruiz demanded. “Where are those precious, turbulent drops that were in Zorro?”
“They linger,” Don Diego declared. “It needs but the cause to churn them into active being.”
“Ha! A cause! Caballeros, let us find him a cause, that this good friend of ours will be too busy to get married.”
“One moment!” Don Diego cried. He stood up and smiled at them, gave a little twitch to his shoulders, and then turned his back upon the brilliant company and hurried from the room. They drank again, and waited. And after a time, back he came, a silk-draped bundle beneath one arm.
“What mystery is this?” Don Audre demanded. He sprawled back in his chair and prepared to laugh. It was said of Don Audre that he always was prepared to laugh. He laughed when he made love, when he fought, as he ate and drank, his bubbling spirit, always upon his lips.
“Here is no mystery,” Don Diego Vega declared. He smiled at them again, unwrapped what he held, and suddenly exhibited a sword. “The blade of Zorro!” he cried.
There was an instant of silence, and then every caballero sprang to his feet. Their own swords came flashing from their scabbards, flashed on high, reflected in a million rays the glowing lights of the candelabra.
“Zorro!” they shouted. “Zorro!”
“Good old blade!” Don Diego said, a whimsical smile playing about his lips.