peak of the matter, for I never ate one
in my life, and please God I never will!"

"Why not!" enquired the King, who took an extraordinary interest in the
subject. "You fear them, then! Yet you seem to be exceedingly strong and
healthy."

"Sire, I have sometimes drunk a little water for my stomach's sake, but
I will not eat it."

The King smiled pleasantly.

"How wise the English are!" he said. "We may yet learn much of them."

Philip turned away from the Ambassador and watched the dance in silence.
The courtiers now stood in a wide half circle to the right and left of
him as he faced the hall, and the dancers passed backwards and forwards
across the open space. His slow eyes followed one figure without seeing
the rest. In the set nearest to him a beautiful girl was dancing with
one of Don John's officers. She was of the rarest type of Andalusian
beauty, tall, pliant, and slenderly strong, with raven's-wing hair and
splendidly languorous eyes, her creamy cheek as smooth as velvet, and a
mouth like a small ripe fruit. As she moved she bent from the waist as
easily and naturally as a child, and every movement followed a new curve
of beauty from her white throat to the small arched foot that darted
into sight as she stepped forward now and then, to disappear instantly
under the shadow of the gold-embroidered skirt. As she glanced towards
the King, her shadowy lids half hid her eyes and the long black lashes
almost brushed her cheek. Philip could not look away from her.

But suddenly there was a stir among the courtiers, and a shadow came
between the King and the vision he was watching. He started a little,
annoyed by the interruption and at being rudely reminded of what had
happened half an hour earlier, for the shadow was cast by Mendoza, tall
and grim in his armour, his face as grey as his grey beard, and his eyes
hard and fixed. Without bending, like a soldier on parade, he stood
there, waiting by force of habit until Philip should speak to him. The
King's brows bent together, and he almost unconsciously raised one hand
to signify that the music should cease. It stopped in the midst of a
bar, leaving the dancers at a standstill in their measure, and all the
moving sea of light and colour and gleaming jewels was arrested
instantly in its motion, while every look was turned towards the King.
The change from sound to silence, from motion to immobility, was so
sudden that every one was startled, as if some frightful a