Sir Nicholas was talking to his Andalusian friend. Numb with horror Dominica saw the characteristic movement of the back-flung head, and heard the gay laugh that could never be forgotten. "Ah!" The sound, hardly more than a gasp, came from Don Maxia. His hand was fumbling at his sword hilt. "_Sangre de Dios_, am I in my senses? Do I dream? _El Beauvallet!_" The name was shouted. Sir Nicholas swung round of instinct, but in this was nothing singular. There was scarcely a man present who did not spin about at the sound of that dread name flung across the room. Dominica saw the quick glance sweep the group by the door. Sir Nicholas saw Perinat standing livid and staring, but only the veriest flash of recognition came into his eyes. Don Rodriguez was bewildered, as was everyone, but found his tongue sooner than the rest. "What do you say, Perinat? Are you mad? Who--what----?" "It is he! It is Beauvallet--Beauvallet's self, I tell you! _Sangre de Dios_, do I not know him? Have I not cause? Shall I ever forget that face, or that laugh, body of God! Ah, dog! ah, villain! At last, at last!" The startled whisper, "_El Beauvallet, El Beauvallet!_" ran round the room; Perinat's shaking hand pointed straight at Sir Nicholas. Amazed faces peered; those near Beauvallet fell back suddenly, and more than one hand felt for a sword hilt. Only Sir Nicholas stood unmoved, an eyebrow raised in mild surprise, a look of interrogation in his face. "But--but that is the Chevalier de Guise!" someone said in a dazed voice. "How should El Beauvallet be in Spain?" "I tell you it is he! I, Maxia de Perinat, who have fought with him hand to hand!" Perinat's words seemed to jostle one another. "Lay hands on him! Will you let him escape? I swear on the Cross it is El Beauvallet!" "Perinat's misfortunes have turned his brain," whispered the Andalusian. Dominica stepped forward a pace. "Why, what are you saying, Don Maxia? That is not Beauvallet!" Her voice was perhaps unnaturally calm, "I should know, surely. This man is certainly not he." There was a movement behind her; Don Diego's hand gripped her wrist. "Ah, jade, I have it at last!" he said fiercely. "This is El Beauvallet, this flaunting Chevalier, and he is your lover!" There was a buzz of excited whispering. Someone moved to the door, as though to guard it. Beauvallet's voice cut through the subdued babel. "God's Life, I am flattered!" he said, and even in the midst of her sick terror, Dominica could exult in the cool amusement in his tone, and worship the iron nerve that could keep him careless and mocking still. "Do you take me for El Beauvallet, señor?" "Jesting dog of a pirate, are you not he? Ah, dare you look me in the face and say you are not he?" "What need? This is moon-madness, señor, or you are cup-shotten. If I were Beauvallet, what in God's name should I hope to make here?"