It was no use. A temporary madness seemed to afflict the Conde, making him deaf to all reason.
'Shameful return,' he echoed furiously. 'Have you not made it already? You are one of the few men in whom I would have placed unlimited trust. It is not the seduction of Gulia that I desire to avenge, but your betrayal of my belief in you. I am determined that you shall either be carried from this bay with a wound that will long remain a reminder of your treachery, or that having put a bullet into a man who once had complete faith in you will permanently plague your conscience. Come! Reload; and take your punishment one way or the other.'
They were just about to place themselves back to back for the fourth time when a shout of 'Stop! Stop that! Stop!' reached them.
Turning towards the slope that ran up to the villa they saw a female figure running down through the pine wood towards them. Both recognized it instantly as that of the Infanta. Instinctively they stepped apart and waited as she hurried towards them.
Although only in her late forties Maria Alfonsine was a bulky woman, and now she looked even more so than usual, for she had no corsets on under the thick dressing-gown that was swathed about her. When she reached them her face was scarlet from her exertions, and wisps of her hair, which she had hastily done up in a bun, were floating untidily about her ears. But her high-nosed features displayed the habit of authority and her dark eyes flashed angrily, as she panted.
'Holy Mary be praised that neither of you is yet injured. There is to be no more of this. I forbid it.'
Made more furious than ever by her arrival on the scene, de Cordoba barked at her, 'Go back! Go back to the villa! Leave us this instant. You have no right to interfere.'
'I have every right,' she retorted. 'It is obvious that you have forced this duel upon the Senor Duke; and I know you to have done so under a misapprehension.'
De Cordoba gave a bitter laugh. 'Since I have a pair of eyes in my head that is impossible. The cause of our quarrel does not concern you; but you may rest assured that no man ever had better reason to call another out.'
'In that you are wrong,' the Infanta insisted. 'I have just come from Gulia, and she has told me how you took her by surprise by coming through her window.'
'So she has admitted her shame. I had hoped that everyone other than myself might be spared the knowledge of it. Since she has confessed to you how can you possibly suggest that I had no grounds for challenging this viper whom I believed to be my friend?'
'Gulia has confessed to more than taking him as a lover.'
'To what more could she confess?'
The Infanta waved an impatient hand. 'Be quiet, Jos6, and listen. An hour ago I was wakened by angry voices. There came the slamming of a door and footsteps past my room, then ten minutes later more footsteps. I felt that I must find out what was going on. I went to Gulia's room and found her sobbing her heart out. She told me of your unexpected return and that you had caught her in flagrante delicto with the Senor Duke. Then that twice, three years ago and again this summer, she had done her utmost to persuade him to become her lover. But he had proved adamant in rejecting her advances.'
'It's said the road to hell is paved with good intentions,' sneered the Conde, 'yet the fact remains that he thought too little of his honour to stay the course. Had he possessed the integrity with which I credited him, he would not only have repulsed but left her.
'Wait, Jose. Wait! Having failed to seduce him from his loyalty to you, she hatched a most subtle plan. She told him that your valet had returned from South America with the news that you had been attacked by a puma and died of your wounds. According to her story the man had brought a letter from you expressing your last wishes. They were that Ruiz should conceal your death for the next two months, and meanwhile call in all doubtful loans; so that the bank should be strong enough to withstand a run upon it when your death was publicly announced. Only then, believing her to have become a widow with the right to dispose of herself as she wished, did the Senor Duke agree to become her lover.'
The anger suddenly drained from de Cordoba's square-bearded face. Turning towards de Richleau, he asked, 'Is this the truth?'
The Duke nodded. 'Yes, that is what happened. But it was not for me to tell you so.'
Tears sprung to the Conde's eyes, and he exclaimed, 'Oh my poor friend, I see now that I have done you a terrible injustice. And you! With what chivalry you have behaved. For the insults I heaped upon you I could not have blamed you if you had killed me. Yet you stood there as a target for my bullets and would not even use your skill to render me hors de combat. Can you ever forgive me?'
'Willingly,' smiled de Richleau. 'Most willingly. I am overjoyed that out of this unhappy affair we should at least have salvaged our friendship. You cannot guess the distress that I have suffered in this past hour from knowing that you believed so ill of me.'
Overcome with emotion, the Conde opened his arms in the Spanish fashion and the two men embraced, kissing one another on both cheeks. But the Infanta's voice caused them to turn again to her.
'To see you reconciled is a great joy to me, but you do not yet know everything. Gulia tells me that in mid-August she believed herself to have become encinta, and a few days ago she became certain of it.'
'What!' exclaimed the Duke. 'She is going to have a child!' Swinging round he met the Conde's eyes, and faltered, 'I... I had no idea of this. How . . . what are we to do?'
Maria Alfonsine said quietly, 'I feel this is a matter which can only be settled between you. May the good God in His wisdom give you guidance.' Then she turned and left them.
When she had covered a little distance, de Richleau said, 'I imagine you could find some pretext to secure an annulment. If so, I should, of course, be willing to marry her.'
For a few moments de Cordoba remained deep in thought, then he shook his head. 'No. To secure an annulment would take at least two years. If I put her from me and long before she can be married to you she has a child, that is certain to become known. It would bring dishonour upon my family, and later reflect on her, on you, and above all on the child. It is better that she should remain with me.'
After a brief hesitation, de Richleau said, 'About the child you are unquestionably right. But we have also to think of her happiness.'
'True. And at the moment I have little doubt that she would prefer to leave me for you. Time, though, as we know, is the inevitable destroyer of passion. Hers for you would be bound to suffer an additional strain if until the annulment came through she had to live as your mistress in furtive secrecy. Afterwards there would be the constant strain upon you both of never knowing when some woman of position, such, for example, as Maria Alfonsine, having learned that Gulia had lived with you before your marriage, would refuse to receive her. Within a few years I fear you would have tired of one another, yet find no compensation in a happy social life together.'
'There is much in what you say,' the Duke admitted. 'But what if she remains with you? Are you . . . would you be willing . . .'
'To forgive and forget,' de Cordoba finished for him. 'Yes. Gulia is not alone to blame for this. When I persuaded her to marry me I was already too old to do her full justice. Experience tells one that few young and healthy women, unless they are deeply religious, do not on occasion succumb to nature's urges. Therefore I have no real right to complain if she takes a lover now and then; provided she is discreet about it.'
The Conde paused a moment, then he went on, 'There is another thing that I will tell to you, but would tell to no one else. I have known for some years that I am no longer capable of begetting a child. But to have one would be a great joy to me. And I know no man whom I would rather have had to sire an heir for me than yourself.'