Marandal began to speak. The words hissed from her mouth, taking form as they came out. The soft huskiness of her voice— always attractive, thought Guelvada— lost nothing from the temper that possessed her.
She dropped her hands, turned her head, looking for the nearest weapon with which to continue the attack.
"Sweet Jesu— " hissed Marandal— "beloved saints aid me!" She told the saints mentioned, in no undecided manner, exactly what she desired to do to Guelvada. She spoke in Spanish, and he considered that Spanish was the language for her purpose. Its easy sibilancy formed a perfect lingual background for the quite unprintable sentiments which Marandal was expressing so fluently.
Her eye lit on a Moroccan sword that hung upon the wall above the fireplace. So did Guelvada's. But before
