‘It is nothing, my dear Iñez,’ he said. ‘In these times of trouble the officials are so suspicious, and our dear Alcalde knows too much. He remembers dear Julia’s little affair with Esteban Larralde, now long since lived down and forgotten. Larralde is, it appears, a malcontent, and on the wrong side of the wall. You need have no uneasiness. Ah! your nerves—yes, I know! A great sufferer—yes, I remember. Patience, dear Iñez, patience!’ And he patted her stout white hand affectionately. The Alcalde was taking snuff with a stubborn air of disbelief, glancing the while suspiciously at Conyngham, who had eyes for none but Estella. ‘Alcalde,’ said General Vincente, ‘the incident is past, as we say in the diplomatic service; a lemonade now?’ ‘No, General, the incident is not past, and I will not have a lemonade.’ ‘Oh!’ exclaimed General Vincente in gentle horror. ‘Yes, this young lady must give me the letter, or I call in my men.’ ‘But your men could not touch a lady, my dear Alcalde.’ ‘You may be the Alcalde of Ronda,’ said Conyngham cheerfully, in continuation of the General’s argument; ‘but if you offer such an insult to Señorita Barenna, I throw you into the fountain, in the deepest part, where it is wettest, just there by the marble dolphin.’ And Conyngham indicated the exact spot with his riding-whip. ‘Who is this gentleman?’ asked the Alcalde. The question was in the first place addressed to space and the gods—after a moment the speaker turned to General Vincente. ‘A prospective aide-de-camp of General Espartero.’ At the mention of the great name the Mayor of Ronda became beautifully less and half bowed to Conyngham. ‘I must do my duty,’ he said with the stubbornness of a small mind. ‘And what do you conceive that to be, my dear Alcalde?’ inquired the General. ‘To place the Señorita Barenna under arrest unless she will hand to me the letter she has in her possession.’ Julia looked at him with a smile. She was a brave woman, playing a dangerous game with consummate courage, and never glanced at Conyngham, who with an effort kept his hand away from the pocket where the letter lay concealed. The manner in which she trusted him unreservedly and entirely was in itself cunning enough, for it appealed to that sense of chivalry which is not yet dead in men. ‘Place me under arrest, Señor Alcalde,’ she said indifferently, ‘and when you have satisfied me that you have a right to inspect a lady’s private correspondence I will submit to be searched—but not before.’ She made a little signal to Conyngham not to interfere. Señora Barenna took this opportunity of asserting herself and her nerves. She sat heavily down on a stone seat and wept. She could hardly have done better, for she was a countess in her own right, and the sight of high-born tears distinctly unnerved the Alcalde. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the señorita has made her own choice. In these times’ (he glanced nervously at the weeping lady) ‘one must do one’s duty.’