Part 31 (1/2)
”I would not drive you away. You have said that you would be my guest for another night; you may remain as long as you care to remain.”
”I'll go,” Cartaret repeated. ”It isn't you that's driving me. Will you please send up to my room for my saddle-bags, and have my mare brought around?”
Don Ricardo bowed. He went out.
Cartaret stood for some time on the spot where he had been standing throughout the talk with his host. He was thinking of his ruined hopes and of the woman that had ruined them. Once he asked himself what had so changed her; but, when he could find no answer to that question, he asked what the cause could matter, since the effect was so apparent.
He walked to a window. He could see that part of the terrace which lay between the gate and the drawbridge, but he saw no sign of his mare.
What could Eskurola be doing? He seemed, whatever it was, to be a long time about it.
The oaken door of the room opened and closed with a bang. Don Ricardo stood before it. The dull red had returned to his cheeks.
”Sir,” said he, ”I have just been having another word with the Dona Dolorez: she informs me that you have had the impertinence to tell her that you love her.”
Cartaret laughed bitterly. ”In _my_ country,” he said, ”when a man wants to marry a woman it is customary to say something of that kind.”
”You are in Alava, sir, and you speak of a member of my family.”
”I was in Paris then.”
”But this morning--just now?” Eskurola came a step forward.
”I won't talk any more about it,” said Cartaret. ”Please have my mare brought around at once.”
”No,” Eskurola replied: ”you shall talk no more about it. Mr.
Cartaret, you must fight me.”
The American could not believe his ears. He recollected that when the Continental speaks of fighting he does not refer to mere pugilism.
”You're crazy,” said Cartaret. ”I don't want to fight you.”
”So soon as you have pa.s.sed that gate, you will be my guest no longer.
What, sir, you may then want will not matter. You will have to fight me.”
Cartaret sat down. He crossed his legs and looked up at his host.
”Is this your little way of persuading me to stay awhile?” he asked.
”You cannot go too soon to please me.”
”Then perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me what it's all about.”
Eskurola's giant figure bent forward. His eyes blazed down in Cartaret's face.
”You came into this place, the place of my people, under false pretenses. I made you welcome; you were my guest, sir. Yet you used your opportunities to insult my sister.”
Cartaret got slowly to his feet. He knew the probable consequences of what he was about to say, but, never s.h.i.+fting his gaze from the Basque's, he said it quietly:
”That's a lie.”