When, a minute later, they came face to face with General Vincente
and his companion, a white-faced, fluttering man of sixty years,
Julia Barenna received them with a smile. There are some men who,
conscious of their own quickness of resource, are careless of
danger, and run into it from mere heedlessness, trusting to good
fortune to aid them should peril arise. Frederick Conyngham was one
of these. He now suspected that this was no love letter which the
man called Larralde had given him in Algeciras.

'Julia,' said the General, 'the Alcalde desires to speak with you.'

Julia bowed with that touch of hauteur which in Spain the nobles
ever observe in their manner towards the municipal authorities.

'Mr. Conyngham,' continued the General, 'this is our brave Mayor, in
whose hands rests the well-being of the people of Ronda.'

'Honoured to meet you,' said Conyngham, holding out his hand with
that frankness of manner which he accorded to great and small alike.
The Alcalde, a man of immense importance in his own estimation,
hesitated before accepting it.

'General,' he said, turning and bowing very low to Senora Barenna
and Estella, who now joined them, 'General, I leave you to explain
to your niece the painful duties of my office.'

The General smiled and raised a deprecating shoulder.

'Well, my dear,' he said kindly to Julia, 'it appears that our good