If three hours had dragged in the prisoner's cell, they had not passed
more quickly in the Royal chamber of King Philip.
The King had finished his game with Don Ramirez de Biscay, and the
nobles, still compelled from etiquette to remain standing, appeared
almost ready to drop with fatigue, rendered still more painful from the
weight of their armour.
Don Tarraxas stood motionless, with closed eyes like one of those iron
figures which ornamented the castles of the savage Goths. Young
D'Ossuna, with drooping head, stood propped against a marble pillar,
whilst King Philip strode impatiently about the apartment, only stopping
at intervals to listen to some imaginary noise. According to the
superstitious custom of the age, the King knelt for a few moments at the
foot of a figure of the Virgin placed upon a porphyry pedestal to pray
the Madonna to pardon him the deed of blood which was about to take
place. Silence reigned, for no one, whatever his rank might be, dared to
speak before his Sovereign without his commands.
As the King's eyes saw the last grain of sand fall in the hour-glass he
uttered an exclamation of joy.
"The traitor dies!" he cried.
An almost inaudible murmur ran through the assembly.
"The hour is passed, Count of Biscay," said Philip, turning to Don
Ramirez, "and with it your enemy."
"My enemy, sire?" asked Ramirez, affecting surprise.
"Why do you repeat my words, Count?" replied the King. "Were you not a
rival to Don Gusman in the affections of Dona Estella, and can rivals be
friends? Dona Estella shall be yours. This young girl will bring you her
beauty and her fortune. I have not spoken of this to our Council, but my
Royal word is pledged. If the ingratitude of Sovereigns is ever spoken
of before you, Count, you will be able to reply that we did not forget
the true friend of the King and of Spain who discovered the plot and the
correspondence of Don Gusman with France."
Don Ramirez de Biscay seemed to listen to the King with uneasiness. He
kept his eyes fixed upon the ground, as if he disliked to be thus
praised in public. Then he made an effort to reply.
"Sire!" he said, "it was with great repugnance that I fulfilled such a
painful duty"--he hesitated, and then was silent.
Tarraxas gave a slight start, whilst D'Ossuna struck sharply the pommel
of his sword with his iron glove.
"Before Dona Estella shall belong to this man," thought D'Ossuna, "I
will have vengeance or perish in the attempt. Tomorrow shall be the day
of my revenge."