the expectation of being called
brother by the son of a German burgher's daughter."

Don John did not wince, for the words, being literally true and without
exaggeration, could hardly be treated as an insult, though they were
meant for one, and hurt him, as all reference to his real mother always
did.

"Yes," he said, still scornfully. "I am the son of a German burgher's
daughter, neither better nor worse. But I am your brother, for all that,
and though I shall not forget that you are King and I am subject, when
we are before the world, yet here, we are man and man, you and I,
brother and brother, and there is neither King nor prince. But I shall
not hurt you, so you need fear nothing. I respect the brother far too
little for that, and the sovereign too much."

There was a bad yellow light in Philip's face, and instead of walking
towards Don John and away from him, as he had done hitherto, he began to
pace up and down, crossing and recrossing before him, from the foot of
the great canopied bed to one of the curtained windows, keeping his eyes
upon his brother almost all the time.

"I warned you when I came here that your words should be remembered," he
said. "And your actions shall not be forgotten, either. There are safe
places, even in Madrid, where you can live in the retirement you desire
so much, even in total solitude."

"If it pleases your Majesty to imprison Don John of Austria, you have
the power. For my part, I shall make no resistance."

"Who shall, then?" asked the King angrily. "Do you expect that there
will be a general rising of the people to liberate you, or that there
will be a revolution within the palace, brought on by your party, which
shall force me to set you free for reasons of state? We are not in Paris
that you should expect the one, nor in Constantinople where the other
might be possible. We are in Spain, and I am master, and my will shall
be done, and no one shall cry out against it. I am too gentle with you,
too kind! For the half of what you have said and done, Elizabeth of
England would have had your life to-morrow--yes, I consent to give you a
chance, the benefit of a doubt there is still in my thoughts about you,
because justice shall not be offended and turned into an instrument of
revenge. Yes--I am kind, I am clement. We shall see whether you can save
yourself. You shall have the chance."

"What chance is that?" asked Don John, growing very quiet, for he saw
the real danger ne