"What! is it come to that?—so hot upon it! But while we are standing trifling here, we ought to be discussing something much more important." And here De Lucenay repeated the conversation he had overheard. "In short, I fear we are fairly done for," he added, in conclusion. "I hope you are able to bear the brunt of the battle, for my vocabulary will scarcely carry me through ten words."
"Oh, as for me, I shall do very well; it must be the devil's own luck if he speaks English better than I do," said Alphonse; "and as for you, you must shelter yourself under English morgue and reserve."
"Confound him!" muttered De Lucenay: "jealousy is the very deuce for sharpening the wits. But no matter, courage!"—And so saying, the friends sauntered back into the circle.
They had not been long there when the Conde came up and introduced his friend Don Alvar, who, as they had expected, addressed them in very good English; to which Alphonse replied with a fluency which would have delighted his friend less, had he been able to appreciate the mistakes which embellished almost every sentence. To him Don Alvar often turned; but as every attempt to engage him in the conversation was met by a resolute monosyllable, he at last confined himself to Alphonse, much to De Lucenay's relief. His manners, however, were cautious and agreeable; and as, after a quarter of an hour, he concluded by hoping that erelong they should be better acquainted, and left them apparently quite unsuspicious, the young men persuaded themselves that they had outwitted their malicious inquisitor. Their gay spirits thus relieved from the cloud that had momentarily over-shadowed them, the remainder of the evening was to them one of unmingled enjoyment. In the society of the beautiful Doña Inez, and her sparkling friend, hours flew by like minutes; and when the last lingering groups dispersed, and the reluctant Juanita rose to depart, the friends could not be convinced of the lateness of the hour.
"Well, Alphonse! so you are fairly caught at last!" said De Lucenay, as, after dismissing Pedro half-an-hour later, he stretched himself full length on the luxurious divan of the immense bedroom, which, for the sake of companionship, they had determined on sharing between them. "After all, it is too absurd that you, who have withstood all the artillery of Paris, and escaped all the cross-fire of the two Castiles, should come and be hooked at last in this remote corner of the earth, by the inexperienced black eyes of an innocent of sixteen."
"Good heavens! do cease that stupid style of persiflage. I am in no humour for jesting."
"Well, defend me from the love that makes people cross! My bonnes fortunes always put me in a good humour."
"Will you never learn to be serious? That absurd manner of talking is very ill-timed."
Ernest was on the point of retorting very angrily, when the sound of a guitar struck upon their ears; and, with one accord, the friends stole silently and noiselessly to the balcony—but not before Ernest, with the tact of experience, had hidden the light behind the marble pillars of the alcove. By this manœuvre, themselves in shade, they could, unperceived, observe all that passed in the apartment opposite to them, from which the sound proceeded; for the windows were thrown wide open, and an antique bronze lamp, suspended from the ceiling, diffused sufficient light over the whole extent of the room to enable them to distinguish almost every thing within its precincts. The profusion of flowers, trifles, and musical instruments, that were dispersed around in graceful confusion, would alone have betrayed a woman's sanctum sanctorum, even had not the presiding genius of the shrine been the first and most prominent object that met their eyes. Doña Inez—for it was she—had drawn her seat to the verge of the balcony; and, her guitar resting on her knee, she hurried over a brilliant prelude with a masterly hand; and in a pure, rich voice, but evidently tremulous with emotion, sang a little plaintive seguidilla with exquisite taste and feeling. The two young men listened in hushed and breathless attention; but the song was short as it was sweet—in a moment it had ceased; and the young girl, stepping out upon the balcony, leaned over the balustrade, and looked anxiously around, as if her brilliant eyes sought to penetrate the very depths of night.
"Well, Alphonse," said De Lucenay, "let me congratulate you. This serenade is for you; but I presume you will no longer deny the coquettery of your innamorata?"