Larralde spoke of general news, and when he at length proposed to Julia that they should take a ‘paseo’ in the garden the elder lady made no objection. For some moments Julia was quite happy. She had schooled herself into a sort of contentment in the hope that her turn would come when ambition failed. Perhaps this moment had arrived. At all events, Larralde acquitted himself well, and seemed sincere enough in his joy at seeing her again. ‘Do you love me?’ he asked suddenly. Julia gave a little laugh. Heaven has been opened by such a laugh ere now, and men have seen for a moment the brightness of it. ‘Enough to leave Spain for ever and live in another country?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Enough to risk something now for my sake?’ ‘Enough to risk everything,’ she answered. ‘I have tried to gain a great position for you,’ went on Larralde, ‘and fortune has been against me. I have failed. The Carlist cause is dead, Julia. Our chief has failed us—that is the truth of it. We set him up as a king, but unless we hold him upright he falls. He is a man of straw. We are making one last effort, as you know, but it is a dangerous one, and we have had misfortunes. This pestilential Englishman! No one may say how much he knows. He has had the letter too long in his possession for our safety. But I have outwitted him this time.’ Larralde paused, and drew from his pocket the letter in the pink envelope—somewhat soiled by its passage through the hands of Colonel Monreal’s servant. ‘It requires two more signatures and will then be complete,’ said the upholder of Don Carlos. ‘We shall then make our “coup,” but we cannot move while Conyngham remains in Spain. It would never do for me to—well, to get shot at this moment.’ Julia breathed hard. ‘And that is what Mr. Conyngham is endeavouring to bring about. In the first place he wants this letter to show to Estella Vincente—some foolish romance. In the second place he hates me, and seeks promotion in the Royalist ranks. These Englishmen are unscrupulous. He tried to take my life—only last night. I bear him no ill-feeling. _A la guerre comme à la guerre_. My only intention is to get him quietly out of Spain. It can be managed easily enough. Will you help me—to save my own life?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Julia. ‘I want you to write a letter to Conyngham saying that you are tired of political intrigue.’ ‘Heaven knows that would be true enough,’ put in Julia. ‘And that you will give him the letter he desires on the condition that he promises to show it to no one but Estella Vincente and return it to you. That you will also swear that it is the identical letter that he handed to you in the General’s garden at Ronda. If Conyngham agrees, he must meet you at the back of the Church of Santo Tome in the Calle Pedro Martir here, in Toledo, next Monday evening at seven o’clock. Will you write this letter, Julia?’ ‘And Estella Vincente?’ inquired Julia. ‘She will forget him in a week,’ laughed Larralde.