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‘Don Juan did his duty, señor,’ said Don Manuel haughtily. ‘Alack then, that virtue has not been better rewarded,’
‘I think the man is either mad—or else—an odd, whimsical fellow, my daughter,’ he remarked. ‘We shall doubtless learn which in time.’
‘I?’ Beauvallet said, and shot out a hand to grasp her wrist. ‘Now look me boldly in the face and tell me if I sneer at you!’
‘Alchemy is a snare, as also astrology,’ said Don Manuel sternly. ‘I regard the tenets of Paracelsus as pernicious, señor, but I believe they are much studied and thought of in England. A creed both absurd and heretical! Why, I have heard a man doubt that his neighbour was born under the sign of Sagittarius for no better reason than that he had a ruddy cheek, or a chestnut beard. Likewise you will meet those who will not stir beyond their doors without they have a piece of coral about them, or a sapphire to give them courage, or some other such toys, fit only for children or infidels. Then you
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he must die upon land—or at least upon another ship than ours.
‘You are to understand, sir, that it is no matter to me, for it was clearly proved in the reading of my horoscope that I should die snug in my bed.
They thought him clearly mad, but his madness was profitable, and they had long ceased to wonder at anything he might take it into his head to do.
‘Look you, we win because our Nick cannot fail. He is bird-eyed for opportunity, and blind to danger, and he laughs his way out of every peril we come to. Mad? Ay, you may say so.’
‘You are the declared enemy of all Spaniards, señor, and well I know it.’ ‘But I have it in mind, sweetheart, to make an Englishwoman of you,’ said Beauvallet frankly.
‘Señor, you are an enemy—a dangerous enemy—to my country, yet, believe me, I should be sorry to see you taken.’
It is madness! I can find no other name for it.’ The firm lips parted; there was a gleam of white teeth. ‘Call it Beauvallet’s way, señor.’
