‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘I must be allowed to take that risk. Did this gentleman give you a letter three minutes ago?’ Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Yes.’ ‘May I ask the nature of the letter?’ ‘It was a love letter.’ Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella. The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap country lawyer. ‘A love letter from a gentleman you have never seen before?’ he said with a forced laugh. ‘Pardon me, Señor Alcalde, this gentleman travelled in the same ship with my mother and myself from Bordeaux to Algeciras, and he saved my life.’ She cast a momentary glance at Conyngham; which would have sealed his fate had the fiery Mr. Larralde been there to see it. The Prefect paused, somewhat taken aback. There was a momentary silence, and every moment gave Julia and Conyngham time to think. Then the Alcalde turned to Conyngham. ‘It will give me the greatest pleasure,’ he said, ‘to learn that I have been mistaken. I have only to ask this gentleman’s confirmation of what the señorita has said. It is true, señor, that you surreptitiously handed to the Señorita Barenna a letter expressing your love?’ ‘Since the señorita has done me the honour of confessing it, I must ask you to believe it,’ answered Conyngham steadily and coldly. CHAPTER IX A WAR OF WIT ‘La discrétion est l’art du mensonge.’ THE Alcalde blew out his cheeks and looked at General Vincente. Señora Barenna would with small encouragement have thrown herself into Conyngham’s arms; but she received none whatever, and instead frowned at Julia. Estella was looking haughtily at her father, and would not meet Conyngham’s glance. ‘I feel sure,’ said General Vincente in his most conciliating manner, ‘that my dear Julia will see the necessity of satisfying the good Alcalde by showing him the letter—with, of course, the consent of my friend Conyngham.’ He laughed, and slipped his hand within Conyngham’s arm. ‘You see, my dear friend,’ he said in English, ‘these local magnates are a trifle inflated; local magnitude is a little inclined to inflate, eh? Ha! ha! And it is so easy to conciliate them. I always try to do so myself. Peace at any price—that is my motto.’ And he turned aside to arrange his sword, which dragged on the ground. ‘Tell her, my dear Conyngham, to let the old gentleman read the letter.’ ‘But it is nothing to do with me, General.’ ‘I know that, my friend, as well as you do,’ said Vincente with a sudden change of manner, which gave the Englishman an uncomfortable desire to know what he meant. But General Vincente, in pursuit of that peace which had earned him such a terrible reputation in war, turned to Señora Barenna with his most reassuring smile.