The court had been still at supper when Adonis had summoned Don Antonio
Perez to the King, and the Secretary, as he was usually called, had been
obliged to excuse his sudden departure by explaining that the King had
sent for him unexpectedly. He was not even able to exchange a word with
Doña Ana, who was seated at another of the three long tables and at some
distance from him. She understood, however, and looked after him
anxiously. His leaving was not signal for the others, but it caused a
little stir which unhinged the solemn formality of the supper. The
Ambassador of the Holy Roman Empire presently protested that he was
suffering from an unbearable headache, and the Princess of Eboli, next
to whom he was seated, begged him not to stand upon ceremony, since
Perez was gone from the room, but to order his coach at once; she found
it hot, she said, and would be glad to escape. The two rose together,
and others followed their example, until the few who would have stayed
longer were constrained to imitate the majority. When Mendoza, relieved
at last from his duty, went towards the supper-room to take the place
that was kept for him at one of the tables, he met Doña Ana in the
private corridor through which the officers and ladies of the household
passed to the state apartments. He stood still, surprised to see her
there.
"The supper is over," she said, stopping also, and trying to scrutinize
the hard old face by the dim light of the lamps. "May I have a word with
you, General? Let us walk together to your apartments."
"It is far, Madam," observed Mendoza, who suspected at once that she
wished to see Dolores.
"I shall be glad to walk a little, and breathe the air," she answered.
"Your corridor has arches open to the air, I remember." She began to
walk, and he was obliged to accompany her. "Yes," she continued
indifferently, "we have had such changeable weather to-day! This morning
it almost snowed, then it rained, then it, began to freeze, and now it
feels like summer! I hope Dolores has not taken cold? Is she ill? She
was not at court before supper."
"The weather is indeed very changeable," replied the General, who did
not know what to say, and considered it beneath his dignity to lie
except by order of the King.
"Yes--yes, I was saying so, was I not? But Dolores--is she ill? Please
tell me." The Princess spoke almost anxiously.
"No, Madam, my daughters are well, so far as I know."
"But then, my dear General, it is strange that you should not have sent
an excuse for Dolores' not appearing. That is the rule, you know. May I
ask why you ventured to break it?" Her tone grew harder by degrees.
"It was very sudden," said Mendoza, trying to put her off. "I hope that
your Grace will excuse my daughter."
"What was sudden?" enquired Doña Ana coldly. "You say she was not taken
ill."
"Her--her not coming to court." Mendoza hesitated and pulled at his grey
beard as they went along. "She fully intended to come," he added, with
perfect truth.
Doña Ana walked more slowly, glancing sideways at his face, though she
could hardly see it except when they passed by a lamp, for he was very
tall, and she was short, though exquisitely proportioned.
"I do not understand," she said, in a clear, metallic voice. "I have a
right to an explanation, for it is quite impossible to give the ladies
of the court who live in the palace full liberty to attend upon the
Queen or not, as they please. You will be singularly fortunate if Don
Antonio Perez does not mention the matter to the King."
Mendoza was silent, but the words had their effect upon him, and a very
unpleasant one, for they contained a threat.
"You see," continued the Princess, pausing as they reached a flight of
steps which they would have to ascend, "every one acknowledges the
importance of your services, and that you have been very poorly rewarded
for them. But that is in a degree your own fault, for you have refused
to make friends when you might, and you have little interest with the
King."
"I know it," said the old soldier, rather bitterly. "Princess," he
continued, without giving her time to say more, "this is a private
matter, which concerns only me and my daughter. I entreat you to
overlook the irregularity and not to question me further. I will serve
you in any way in my power--"
"You cannot serve me in any way," answered Doña Ana cruelly. "I am
trying to help you," she added, with a sudden change of tone. "You see,
my dear General, you are no longer young. At your age, with your name
and your past services, you should have been a grandee and a rich man.
You have thrown away your opportunities of advancement, and you have
contented yourself with an office which is highly honourable--but poorly
paid, is it not? And there are younger men who court it for the honour
alone, and who are willing to be served by their friends."
"Who is my successor?" asked Mendoza, bravely controlling his voice
though he felt that he was ruined.
The skilful and cruel woman began to mount the steps in silence, in
order to let him suffer a few moments, before she answered. Reaching the
top, she spoke, and her voice was soft and kind.
"No one," she answered, "and there is nothing to prevent you from
keeping your post as long as you like, even if you become infirm and
have to appoint a deputy--but if there were any serious cause of
complaint, like this extraordinary behaviour of Dolores--why, perhaps--"
She paused to give her words weight, for she knew their value.
"Madam," said Mendoza, "the matter I keep from you does not touch my
honour, and you may know it, so far as that is concerned. But it is one
of which I entreat you not to force me to speak."
Doña Ana softly passed her arm through his.
"I am not used to walking so fast," she said, by way of explanation.
"But, my dear Mendoza," she went on, pressing his arm a little, "you do
not think that I shall let what you tell me go further and reach any one
else--do you? How can I be of any use to you, if you have no confidence
in me? Are we not relatives? You must treat me as I treat you."
Mendoza wished that he could.
"Madam," he said almost roughly, "I have shut my daughter up in her own
room and bolted the door, and to-morrow I intend to send her to a
convent, and there she shall stay until she changes her mind, for I will
not change mine"
"Oh!" ejaculated Doña Ana, with a long intonation, as if grasping the
position of affairs by degrees. "I understand," she said, after a long
time. "But then you and I are of the same opinion, my dear friend. Let
us talk about this."
Mendoza did not wish to talk of the matter at all, and said nothing, as
they slowly advanced. They had at last reached the passage that ended at
his door, and he slackened his pace still more, obliging his companion,
whose arm was still in his, to keep pace with him. The moonlight no
longer shone in straight through the open embrasures, and there was a
dim twilight in the corridor.
"You do not wish Dolores to marry Don John of Austria, then," said the
Princess presently, in very low tones. "Then the King is on your side,
and so am I. But I should like to know your reason for objecting to such
a very great marriage."
"Simple enough, Madam. Whenever it should please his Majesty's policy to
marry his brother to a royal personage, such as Queen Mary of Scotland,
the first marriage would be proved null and void, because the King would
command that it should be so, and my daughter would be a dishonoured
woman, fit for nothing but a convent."
"Do you call that dishonour?" asked the Princess thoughtfully. "Even if
that happened, you know that Don John would probably not abandon
Dolores. He would keep her near him--and provide for her generously--"
"Madam!" cried the brave old soldier, interrupting her in sudden and
generous anger, "neither man nor woman shall tell me that my daughter
could ever fall to that!"
She saw that she had made a mistake, and pressed his arm soothingly.
"Pray, do not be angry with me, my dear friend. I was thinking what the
world would say--no, let me speak! I am quite of your opinion that
Dolores should be kept from seeing Don John, even by quiet force if
necessary, for they will certainly be married at the very first
opportunity they can find. But you cannot do such things violently, you
know. You will make a scandal. You cannot take your daughter away from
court suddenly and shut her up in a convent without doing her a great
injury. Do you not see that? People will not understand that you will
not let her marry Don John--I mean that most people would find it hard
to believe. Yes, the world is bad, I know; what can one do? The world
would say--promise me that you will not be angry, dear General! You can
guess what the world would say."'
"I see--I see!" exclaimed the old man, in sudden terror for his
daughter's good name. "How wise you are!"
"Yes," answered Doña Ana, stopping at ten paces from the door, "I am
wise, for I am obliged to be. Now, if instead of locking Dolores into
her room two or three hours ago, you had come to me, and told me the
truth, and put her under my protection, for our common good, I would
have made it quite impossible for her to exchange a word with Don John,
and I would have taken such good care of her that instead of gossiping
about her, the world would have said that she was high in favour, and
would have begun to pay court to her. You know that I have the power to
do that."
"How very wise you are!" exclaimed Mendoza again, with more emphasis.
"Very well. Will you let me take her with me now, my dear friend? I will
console her a little, for I daresay she has been crying all alone in her
room, poor girl, and I can keep her with me till Don John goes to
Villagarcia. Then we shall see."
Old Mendoza was a very simple-hearted man, as brave men often are, and a
singularly spotless life spent chiefly in war and austere devotion had
left him more than ignorant of the ways of the world. He had few
friends, chiefly old comrades of his own age who did not live in the
palace, and he detested gossip. Had he known what the woman was with
whom he was speaking, he would have risked Dolores' life rather than
give her into the keeping of Doña Ana. But to him, the latter was simply
the wife of old Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, the Minister of State, and she
was the head of the Queen's household. No one would have thought of
repeating the story of a court intrigue to Mendoza, but it was also true
that every one feared Doña Ana, whose power was boundless, and no one
wished to be heard speaking ill of her. To him, therefore, her
proposition seemed both wise and kind.
"I am very grateful," he said, with some emotion, for he believed that
she was helping him to save his fortune and his honour, as was perhaps
really the case, though she would have helped him to lose both with
equally persuasive skill could his ruin have served her. "Will you come
in with me, Princess?" he asked, beginning to move towards the door.
"Yes. Take me to her room and leave me with her."
"Indeed, I would rather not see her myself this evening," said Mendoza,
feeling his anger still not very far from the surface. "You will be able
to speak more wisely than I should."
"I daresay," answered Doña Ana thoughtfully. "If you went with me to
her, there might be angry words again, and that would make it much
harder for me. If you will leave me at the door of her rooms, and then
go away, I will promise to manage the rest. You are not sorry that you
have told me, now, are you, my dear friend?"
"I am most grateful to you. I shall do all I can to be of service to
you, even though you said that it was not in my power to serve you."
"I was annoyed," said Doña Ana sweetly. "I did not mean it--please
forgive me."
They reached the door, and as she withdrew her hand from his arm, he
took it and ceremoniously kissed her gloved fingers, while she smiled
graciously. Then he knocked three times, and presently the shuffling of
Eudaldo's slippers was heard within, and the old servant opened
sleepily. On seeing the Princess enter first, he stiffened himself in a
military fashion, for he had been a soldier and had fought under Mendoza
when both were younger.
"Eudaldo," said the General, in the stern tone he always used when
giving orders, "her Excellency the Princess of Eboli will take Doña
Dolores to her own apartments this evening. Tell the maid to follow
later with whatever my daughter needs, and do you accompany the ladies
with a candle."
But at this Doña Ana protested strongly. There was moonlight, there were
lamps, there was light everywhere, she said. She needed no one. Mendoza,
who had no man-servant in the house but Eudaldo, and eked out his meagre
establishment by making use of his halberdiers when he needed any one,
yielded after very little persuasion.
"Open the door of my daughter's apartments," he said to Eudaldo.
"Madam," he said, turning to the Princess, "I have the honour to wish
you good-night. I am your Grace's most obedient servant. I must return
to my duty."
"Good-night, my dear friend," answered Doña Ana, nodding graciously.
Mendoza bowed low, and went out again, Eudaldo closing the door behind
him. He would not be at liberty until the last of the grandees had gone
home, and the time he had consumed in accompanying the Princess was just
what he could have spared for his supper. She gave a short sigh of
relief as she heard his spurred heels and long sword on the stone
pavement. He was gone, leaving Dolores in her power, and she meant to
use that power to the utmost.
Eudaldo shuffled silently across the hall, to the other door, and she
followed him. He drew the bolt.
"Wait here," she said quietly. "I wish to see Doña Dolores alone."
"Her ladyship is in the farther room, Excellency," said the servant,
bowing and standing back.
She entered and closed the door, and Eudaldo returned to his big chair,
to doze until she should come out.
She had not taken two steps in the dim room, when a shadow flitted
between her and the lamp, and it was almost instantly extinguished. She
uttered an exclamation of surprise and stood still. Anywhere save in
Mendoza's house, she would have run back and tried to open the door as
quickly as possible, in fear of her life, for she had many enemies, and
was constantly on her guard. But she guessed that the shadowy figure she
had seen was Dolores. She spoke, without hesitation, in a gentle voice.
"Dolores! Are you there?" she asked.
A moment later she felt a small hand on her arm.
"Who is it?" asked a whisper, which might have come from Dolores' lips
for all Doña Ana could tell.
She had forgotten the existence of Inez, whom she had rarely seen, and
never noticed, though she knew that Mendoza had a blind daughter.
"It is I--the Princess of Eboli," she answered in the same gentle tone.
"Hush! Whisper to me."
"Your father has gone back to his duty, my dear--you need not be
afraid."
"Yes, but Eudaldo is outside--he hears everything when he is not asleep.
What is it, Princess? Why are you here?"
"I wish to talk with you a little," replied Doña Ana, whispering now, to
please the girl. "Can we not get a light? Why did you put out the lamp?
I thought you were in another room."
"I was frightened. I did not know who you were. We can talk in the dark,
if you do not mind. I will lead you to a chair. I know just where
everything is in this room."
The Princess suffered herself to be led a few steps, and presently she
felt herself gently pushed into a seat. She was surprised, but realizing
the girl's fear of her father, she thought it best to humour her. So far
Inez had said nothing that could lead her visitor to suppose that she
was not Dolores. Intimate as the devoted sisters were, Inez knew almost
as much of the Princess as Dolores herself; the two girls were of the
same height, and so long as the conversation was carried on in whispers,
there was no possibility of detection by speech alone. The quick-witted
blind girl reflected that it was strange if Doña Ana had not seen
Dolores, who must have been with the court the whole evening, and she
feared some harm. That being the case, her first impulse was to help her
sister if possible, but so long as she was a prisoner in Dolores' place,
she could do nothing, and she resolved that the Princess should help her
to escape.
Doña Ana began to speak quickly and fluently in the dark. She said that
she knew the girl's position, and had long known how tenderly she loved
Don John of Austria, and was loved by him. She sympathized deeply with
them both, and meant to do all in her power to help them. Then she told
how she had missed Dolores at court that night.
Inez started involuntarily and drew her breath quickly, but Doña Ana
thought it natural that Dolores should give some expression to the
disappointment she must have felt at being shut up a prisoner on such an
occasion, when all the court was assembled to greet the man she loved.
Then the Princess went on to tell how she had met Mendoza and had come
with him, and how with great difficulty she had learned the truth, and
had undertaken Dolores' care for a few days; and how Mendoza had been
satisfied, never suspecting that she really sympathized with the lovers.
That was a state secret, but of course Dolores must know it. The King
privately desired the marriage, she said, because he was jealous of his
brother and wished that he would tire of winning battles and live
quietly, as happy men do.
"Don John will tell you, when you see him," she continued. "I sent him
two letters this evening. The first he burned unopened, because he
thought it was a love letter, but he has read the second by this time.
He had it before supper."
"What did you write to him?" asked Inez, whispering low.
"He will tell you. The substance was this: If he would only be prudent,
and consent to wait two days, and not attempt to see you alone, which
would make a scandal, and injure you, too, if any one knew it, the King
would arrange everything at his own pleasure, and your father would give
his consent. You have not seen Don John since he arrived, have you?" She
asked the question anxiously.
"Oh no!" answered the blind girl, with conviction. "I have not seen him.
I wish to Heaven I had!"
"I am glad of that," whispered the Princess. "But if you will come with
me to my apartments, and stay with me till matters are arranged--well--I
will not promise, because it might be dangerous, but perhaps you may see
him for a moment."
"Really? Do you think that is possible?" In the dark Inez was smiling
sadly.
"Perhaps. He might come to see me, for instance, or my husband, and I
could leave you together a moment."
"That would be heaven!" And the whisper came from the heart.
"Then come with me now, my dear, and I will do my best," answered the
Princess.
"Indeed I will! But will you wait one moment while I dress? I am in my
old frock--it is hardly fit to be seen."
This was quite true; but Inez had reflected that dressed as she was she
could not pass Eudaldo and be taken by him for her sister, even with a
hood over her head. The clothes Dolores had worn before putting on her
court dress were in her room, and Dolores' hood was there, too. Before
the Princess could answer, Inez was gone, closing the door of the
bedroom behind her. Doña Ana, a little taken by surprise again, was fain
to wait where she was, in the dark, at the risk of hurting herself
against the furniture. Then it struck her that Dolores must be dressing
in the dark, for no light had come from the door as it was opened and
shut. She remembered the blind sister then, and she wondered idly
whether those who lived continually with the blind learned from them to
move easily in the dark and to do everything without a light. The
question did not interest her much, but while she was thinking of it the
door opened again. A skirt and a bodice are soon changed. In a moment
she felt her hand taken, and she rose to her feet.
"I am ready, Princess. I will open the door if you will come with me. I
have covered my head and face," she added carelessly, though always
whispering, "because I am afraid of the night air."
"I was going to advise you to do it in any case, my dear. It is just as
well that neither of us should be recognized by any one in the corridors
so far from my apartments."
The door opened and let in what seemed a flood of light by comparison
with the darkness. The Princess went forward, and Eudaldo got upon his
legs as quickly as he could to let the two ladies out, without looking
at them as they crossed the hall. Inez followed her companion's footfall
exactly, keeping one step behind her by ear, and just pausing before
passing out. The old servant saw Dolores' dress and Dolores' hood, which
he expected to see, and no more suspected anything than he had when, as
he supposed, Inez, had gone out earlier.
But Inez herself had a far more difficult part to perform than her
sister's. Dolores had gone out alone, and no one had watched her beyond
the door, and Dolores had eyes, and could easily enough pretend that she
could not see. It was another matter to be blind and to play at seeing,
with a clever woman like the Princess at one's elbow, ready to detect
the slightest hesitation. Besides, though she had got out of the
predicament in which it had been necessary to place her, it was quite
impossible to foresee what might happen when the Princess discovered
that she had been deceived, and that catastrophe must happen sooner or
later, and might occur at any moment. The Princess walked quickly, too,
with a gliding, noiseless step that was hard to follow. Fortunately Inez
was expected to keep to the left of a superior like her companion, and
was accustomed to taking that side when she went anywhere alone in the
palace. That made it easier, but trouble might come at one of the short
flights of steps down and up which they would have to pass to reach the
Princess's apartments. And then, once there, discovery must come, to a
certainty, and then, she knew not what.
She had not run the risk for the sake of being shut up again. She had
got out by a trick in order to help her sister, if she could find her,
and in order to be at liberty the first thing necessary was to elude her
companion. To go to the door of her apartments would be fatal, but she
had not had time to think what she should do. She thought now, with all
the concentration of her ingenuity. One chance presented itself to her
mind at once. They most pass the pillar behind which was the concealed
entrance to the Moorish gallery above the throne room, and it was not at
all likely that Doña Ana should know of its existence, for she never
came to that part of the palace, and if Inez lagged a little way behind,
before they reached the spot, she could slip noiselessly behind the
pillar and disappear. She could always trust herself not to attract
attention when she had to open and shut a door.
The Princess spoke rarely, making little remarks now and then that
hardly required an answer, but to which Inez answered in monosyllables,
speaking in a low voice through the thick veil she had drawn over her
mantle under her hood, on pretence of fearing the cold. She thought it a
little safer to speak aloud in that way, lest her companion should
wonder at her total silence.
She knew exactly where she was, for she touched each corner as she
passed, and counted her steps between one well-known point and the next,
and she allowed the Princess to gain a little as they neared the last
turning before reaching the place where she meant to make the attempt.
She hoped in this way, by walking quite noiselessly, and then stopping
suddenly just before she reached the pillar, to gain half a dozen paces,
and the Princess would take three more before she stopped also. Inez had
noticed that most people take at least three steps before they stop, if
any one calls them suddenly when they are walking fast. It seems to need
as much to balance the body when its speed is checked. She noticed
everything that could be heard.
She grew nervous. It seemed to her that her companion was walking more
slowly, as if not wishing to leave her any distance behind. She
quickened her own pace again, fearing that she had excited suspicion.
Then she heard the Princess stop suddenly, and she had no choice but to
do the same. Her heart began to beat painfully, as she saw her chance
slipping from her. She waited for Doña Ana to speak, wondering what was
the matter.
"I have mistaken the way," said the Princess, in a tone of annoyance. "I
do not know where I am. We had better go back and turn down the main
staircase, even if we meet some one. You see, I never come to this part
of the palace."
"I think we are on the right corridor," said Inez nervously. "Let me go
as far as the corner. There is a light there, and I can tell you in a
moment." In her anxiety to seem to see, she had forgotten for the moment
to muffle her voice in her veil.
They went on rapidly, and the Doña Ana did what most people do when a
companion offers to examine the way,--she stood still a moment and
hesitated, looking after the girl, and then followed her with the slow
step with which a person walks who is certain of having to turn back.
Inez walked lightly to the corner, hardly touching the wall, turned by
the corner, and was out of sight in a moment. The Princess walked
faster, for though she believed that Dolores trusted her, it seemed
foolish to give the girl a chance. She reached the corner, where there
was a lamp,--and she saw that the dim corridor was empty to the very
end.
* * * * *