ess herself ran skipping across the
hall, and, catching Rollo by the hand, bewildered him with a chatter of
joyous questionings.

Where was Concha? Would her brother never come back? Why had he not been
at Aranjuez? She sent him a kiss. (The which Rollo promised without fail
to deliver, and what is more, meant to keep his word.)

Yes (he answered with amusement), perhaps one day the Princess would see
Concha's brother again. It was certainly very dull in Madrid. Royal
palaces were as little to his liking as to that of the Princess.

Then the little lady had her turn. Did he remember when he had hidden
her underneath the great brass pot among the hay? Did he know that once
a straw had tickled her beneath the chin so funnily that she came near
to bursting out laughing? Rollo did not know, but the very thought
turned him cold even among that throng of courtiers, all casting
sidelong glances and trying to get near enough to listen politely to the
conversation without appearing to do so. He seemed to be once more
threading his way through the scattered groups of gipsies, the dark
brows of Egypt bending suspiciously upon him and the royal storehouses
flaring up like torches.

"Ah, there he comes--just like him!" cried the little girl, stamping her
foot after the pattern of her mother; "now you and I will have no more
good talk. But I shall wait for you at the gate when you come out.
There--now bend down. I want to give you another kiss for that pretty
boy, the brother of that Concha of yours!"

As she ran off Rollo found a friendly hand on his arm, and lo! there at
his elbow was Don Fernando Munoz, Duke of Rianzares, come in person to
convey him into the presence. His manner was characterised by the utmost
cordiality, together with a certain humanity altogether new, which made
Rollo think that a few more _barrancos_ to defend would do this favoured
grandeeship a great deal of good.

Rollo had expected to be ushered into the presence of her Majesty in
person, but instead, a plain English-looking man stood alone in a little
room, the window of which commanded a vast and desolate prospect. There
was a tall chair with a golden crown over it at the top of a table
covered with red cloth, while several others, all uncushioned and
severely plain, were ranged regularly about it.

The English-looking man came forward bluffly, and put out his hand to
Rollo. He looked more like a healthy fox-hunting squire, just
intelligent enoug