As we bowed to the ladies, Dona Dolores demurely slipped aside and drew the attention of the others by a piquant remark about one of the fine paintings upon the wall. Alisanda took the opportunity to flash me a glance which set my heart to leaping with the certainty that I had lost nothing by my crossing of the barrier. Just what I had gained was yet to be seen. I knew I had gone far toward winning my lady's heart--I had crossed the barrier of nationality and birth. But I did not forget that I had yet to cross the gulf of religion. With that one swift glance, she drew back, and Don Pedro escorted us to the door. We exchanged bows with him, and moved down the gallery to the head of the stairway. Here we turned and again exchanged bows. We descended to the first landing, and paused to return the bow which he made to us over the gallery rail. Another exchange of bows from the edge of the beautiful flower-and-shrub-embowered court, and we at last escaped out through the tunnel-like passage to the great gate. Passing through the wicket into the street, which was lit up by the red glare of a resin torch, we found ourselves face to face with Father Rocus and Lieutenant Don Jesus Maria de Gonzales y Medina. The aide-de-camp bowed stiffly and stared from Walker to myself with a glance of fiery jealousy. I gave him a curt nod, and hastened to grasp the proffered hand of the beaming padre. "God be with you, my son!" he exclaimed. "My thanks for the kind wish, padre!" I replied "I see you are coming to call upon my friend Senor Vallois." "Your friend!" muttered Medina, for I had spoken in French. "My friend," I repeated. "I had the pleasure of meeting Don Pedro in my own country. But now, senor, with regard to our misunderstanding this morning, I wish to express my regrets and to explain that the error was committed through inadvertence." "Ah--if you apologize," he said, with a complacent half-sneer. "You mistake me, senor. I do not apologize. I merely explain." He turned, without answering, and swaggered in through the archway. "You _Americanos_!" protested Father Rocus, reaching up to lay a hand upon my shoulder. "Can you never be prudent? Medina is a swordsman. Your friend here will tell you that out of five duels, the aide has to his credit three deaths on the black record of Satanas." "If he is a swordsman, I am a pistol shot," I rejoined. "Then all turns upon the chance of who challenges and who has choice of weapons. God grant the choice fall to you! He is in strong need of a lesson." "That is true!" muttered Walker, with a shrug. "Meantime, my son, it will be well for you to consider the peril of your soul and come often to the _Parroquia_ to hear me preach," admonished the padre. He spoke in a severe tone, but I fancied I caught a twinkle in his eye as he turned to enter the gate.