. It was their one
title to respect, indisputable in any company. They began all
conversations when they went from home with Ramon Garcia's name, and the
statement of the fact that they had known his father.

"And a fine old man he was; very gracious and formal and of much
dignity."

"It happened thus," the youthful dandy went on. "El Sarria came home
late one night, and when he arrived at his own gable-end, lo, there by
the _reja_, where the inside stairway mounts, was a youth 'plucking the
turkey' with his sweetheart through a broken bar, and that apparently
with great success. And the fool Ramon, his head being filled with his
Dolores, never bethought himself for a moment that there might be
another pretty girl in the house besides his wife, and so without
waiting either '_Buenos!_' or '_Hola!_'--_click_ went Ramon's knife into
the lover's back! Such a pair of fools as they were!"

"And did this--this Rafael de Flores die?" asked Etienne, divided
between a hope that he had, and a fear that if so he might be balked of
his revenge.

"Die? No--he was about again before many weeks. But this foolish Ramon
took straightway to the hills, because he thought that his wife was
false and that he had killed her cousin and lover."

And even as Don Juan was speaking these words a young man of a slender
form and particularly lithe carriage, dressed in the height of Madrid
fashion, walked into the _cafe_ with a smiling flourish of his hat to
the company.

"A glass of vermuth, Esteban," he said, "and if any of these gentlemen
will join me I shall feel honoured. Be good enough to tell them who I
am, Gaspar, my friend."

"Senor cavalier," said the valiant man of Sarria, planting the butt of
his blunderbuss firmly on the ground that he might lean upon it, and as
it were more officially make the important introduction, "this is no
other than the only son of our rich and distinguished alcalde, Senor Don
Rafael de Flores, concerning whom you have already heard some speech."

And Gaspar, who knew his place, stood back for the impressive civilities
which followed. The jaws of the villagers dropped as they saw the three
foreigners with one accord raise their hats from their heads and make
each a reverence after his kind. Rollo, the tragical Scot, swept back
his sombrero-brim in a grand curve as if it bore a drooping plume. John
Mortimer jerked his beaver vertically off and clapped it down again as
if he had a spite at the crown, whi