conversed with. "But never mind," he rattled on, "though I confess some
surprise at your hypocrisy, which is all thrown away upon me, _amigo_!
I don't at all wonder at your success with the senoritas. You're a
handsome fellow, Don Carlos; and if it weren't for that scar on your
cheek--By the way, you never told me how you came by it. You hadn't it
when you were last with us."

The red flushed into Santander's face, and up over his forehead to the
roots of his hair. He had told no one in Mexico, nor anywhere else, how
he came by that ugly thing on his jaw, which beard could not conceal,
and which he felt as a brand of Cain.

"It's a scar of a sword-cut, your Excellency. I got it in a duel."

"Ah! An honourable wound, then. But where?"

"In New Orleans."

"Just the place for that sort of thing, as I know, having been there
myself." (Santa Anna had made a tour of the States, on _parole_, after
the battle of San Jacinto, where he was taken prisoner.) "A very den of
duellists is Nuevo Orleans; many of them _maitres d'escrime_. But who
was your antagonist? I hope you gave him as good as you got."

"I did, your Excellency; that, and more."

"You killed him?"

"Not quite. I would have done so, but that my second interposed, and
persuaded me to let him off."

"Well, he hasn't let you off, anyhow. What was the quarrel about?
_Carrai_! I needn't ask; the old orthodox cause--a lady, of course?"

"Nay; for once your Excellency is in error. Our _desajio_ originated in
something quite different."

"What thing?"

"An endeavour on my part to do a service to Mexico and its honoured
ruler."

"Oh, indeed! In what way, Senor Colonel?"

"That band of _filibusteros_, of which, as your Excellency will
remember--"

"Yes--yes," interrupted Santa Anna impatiently. He evidently knew all
about that, and preferred hearing no more of it. "It was one of the
_filibusteros_ you fought with, I suppose?"

"Yes, Excellentissimo; the one they chose for their captain."

"You were angry at his being preferred to yourself, and so called him
out? Well, that was cause enough to a man of your mettle. But what
became of him afterwards? Was he among those at Mier?"

"He was."

"Killed there?"

"No, your Excellency; only taken prisoner."

"Shot at Salado?"

"Neither that, Excellentissimo."

"Then he must be here?"

"He is here, your Excellency."

"What's his name?"

"Kearney--Florence Kearney, _un Irlandes_."