"Years ago--but not so many years ago as you, sir, might suppose--there came to this house a young lady. She came here as a governess for my sister, but she was a lady, a person of birth. Also, she spoke your language." He paused, and then went on in a still gentler voice. "Sir, because of her, your language, barbarous as it is, has always been dear to me, and yet, still because of her, I have ever since wanted not to speak it." Cartaret looked at the floor. Even though this confession of a past weakness was voluntary, it seemed somehow unfair to watch, during it, the man whose pride was so strong. "And you sent her away?" he found himself asking. "She went when her work was finished. She went without knowing." Cartaret raised his eyes. There was no false assumption in the man upon whom they rested: it was impossible to believe that, seeing him thus, a woman would not love him. "I'll go," said Cartaret. Eskurola's words had assured him of Vitoria's safety. "I'll go now." "I would not drive you away. You have said that you would be my guest for another night; you may remain as long as you care to remain." "I'll go," Cartaret repeated. "It isn't you that's driving me. Will you please send up to my room for my saddle-bags, and have my mare brought around?" Don Ricardo bowed. He went out. Cartaret stood for some time on the spot where he had been standing throughout the talk with his host. He was thinking of his ruined hopes and of the woman that had ruined them. Once he asked himself what had so changed her; but, when he could find no answer to that question, he asked what the cause could matter, since the effect was so apparent. He walked to a window. He could see that part of the terrace which lay between the gate and the drawbridge, but he saw no sign of his mare. What could Eskurola be doing? He seemed, whatever it was, to be a long time about it. The oaken door of the room opened and closed with a bang. Don Ricardo stood before it. The dull red had returned to his cheeks. "Sir," said he, "I have just been having another word with the Doña Dolorez: she informs me that you have had the impertinence to tell her that you love her." Cartaret laughed bitterly. "In _my_ country," he said, "when a man wants to marry a woman it is customary to say something of that kind." "You are in Alava, sir, and you speak of a member of my family." "I was in Paris then." "But this morning--just now?" Eskurola came a step forward. "I won't talk any more about it," said Cartaret. "Please have my mare brought around at once." "No," Eskurola replied: "you shall talk no more about it. Mr. Cartaret, you must fight me." The American could not believe his ears. He recollected that when the Continental speaks of fighting he does not refer to mere pugilism. "You're crazy," said Cartaret. "I don't want to fight you."