nd
the Creole were by this also on their feet; and for a second or so the
three formed a strange triangular _tableau_--the Mexican with fear on
his face, that of Santander still wearing the expression of insult, as
when he had exclaimed, "Cur of an Irishman!" Kearney confronting him
with a look of indignant defiance.

There was an interval of silence, as that of calm preceding storm. It
was broken by the guest latest arrived saying a few words to his host,
but in calm, dignified tone; an apology for having unceremoniously
entered the room.

"No need to apologise," promptly rejoined Don Ignacio. "You are here by
my invitation, Senor Don Florencio, and my humble home is honoured by
your presence."

The Hidalgo blood, pure in Valverde's veins, had boiled up at seeing a
man insulted under his roof.

"Thanks," said the young Irishman.

"And now, sir," he continued, turning to Santander and regarding him
with a look of recovered coolness, "having made my apology, I require
_yours_."

"For what?" asked Santander, counterfeiting ignorance.

"For using language that belongs to the _bagnios_ of New Orleans, where,
I doubt not, you spend most part of your time."

Then, suddenly changing tone and expression of face, he added--

"Cur of a Creole! you must take back your words!"

"Never! It's not my habit to take, but to give; and to you I give
this!"

So saying, he stepped straight up to the Irishman, and spat in his face.

Kearney's heart was on fire. His hand was already on the butt of his
pistol; but, glancing behind, he saw that pale appealing face, and with
an effort restrained himself, calmly saying to Santander--

"Calling yourself a gentleman, you will no doubt have a card and
address. May I ask you to favour me with it, as to-morrow I shall have
occasion to write to you? If a scoundrel such as you can boast of
having a friend, you may as well give him notice he will be needed.
Your card, sir!"

"Take it!" hissed the Creole, flinging his card on the table. Then
glaring around, as if his glance would annihilate all, he clutched hold
of his hat, bowed haughtily to Don Ignacio, looked daggers at his
daughter, and strode out into the street.

Though to all appearance defeated and humbled, he had in truth succeeded
in his design, one he had long planned and cherished to bring about,--a
duel with Kearney, in which his antagonist should be challenger. This
would give him the choice of weapons, which, as