It was. She was gazing after me--no longer by stealth; but in surprise; I fancied in chagrin! Had she divined the cause of my abrupt departure? That was scarcely probable. In the position lately occupied by my unknown challenger, she could not have seen him. The statue interposed; and the column covered him, as he stepped towards the door. I returned her glance by one intended to reassure her. With my eyes I said:-- "A moment, sweet saint, and you shall see me again!" CHAPTER NINETEEN. A QUIET STREET. I was not so confident of being able to keep my promise, as I stepped out into the sunlight, and saw a little before me the man who was to be my antagonist. He stood six feet in his russet boots, with a frame that seemed as sinewy, as herculean. He had all the look of a _vieux sabreur_; and I knew he would insist upon the sword for his weapon. A Mexican makes but a poor fight with firearms. They are too noisy for taking life--in the way he oft wishes to take it. I was certain my challenger would choose the sword. By the etiquette of the _duello_, I might have insisted upon having the choice; but I was too angry to stand upon punctilios. The Cathedral of Puebla stands upon a raised _dais_--with a stone stairway along its _facade_, and around three sides. Down this the stranger preceded me--having already descended several of the steps before I came out. At the bottom he paused to await me; and there, for the first time, I had a fair chance of scrutinising him. Forty, but with that tough, terse figure that betokens a man who has passed his life in energetic action, and whose nerves have never been a day out of training. The face was not a whit improved by the light of the sun. It looked as foul as I had fancied it, when seen under the shadow of the Saint. It told of an ill-spent past, and prognosticated an evil future. What could the man want with me? Under other circumstances I might have asked the question; but I did not then. I had a tolerably clear comprehension, of what had stimulated him to seek the _desafio_. Like myself, he was in love with Mercedes Villa-Senor; like myself, ready to defy to the death whoever might present himself as a rival! He had recognised me as such; a successful one--if his interpretation of her glances corresponded with my own. I had no doubt about this being the reason for his having so deliberately provoked me. "It's rather public just here," said he, on receiving me at the bottom of the stair. "The Piazza is not the best place for a purpose like ours." "Why not?" I asked, impatient to put an end to an episode that was causing me annoyance. "Oh! only that we are likely to be interrupted by policemen, or patrols. Perhaps _you_ would prefer it that way?"