blue and transparent from disease; the tall person
and once well-formed limbs were swollen and unwieldy. The sick man's
dress would have suited some plain burgher of Madrid, taking his use in
his summer-house: it consisted of a light nankeen jacket, a white
neckcloth knotted loosely round the throat, linen trousers, and large
shoes. He seemed scarcely able to set foot to ground, and the agony each
step occasioned him betrayed itself in spasmodic twitchings of the
nerves and muscles. Still there was a violent effort of the will to
conceal the pangs that racked the enfeebled frame; a fruitless attempt,
by the assumption of smiling case and gracious condescension, to hide,
even from himself, the approach of that equalising hour when human
greatness and human misery sink to one level.

The sick man propped himself against a table, beside which stood an
easy-chair, and with an affable wave of his hand, addressed the company.

"Good evening, senores!" he said: "we have felt ourselves somewhat
unwell, and our careful physician Castillo, as also our trusty Grijalva,
was solicitous on our account. But we would not put off this meeting. We
love to meet our good friends, and are not to be kept from them, by
slight bodily inconvenience. Men fancy us more ailing than we are. You
can refute such reports. What say you, Mexas--and you, Salcedo? Is our
aspect so very sickly? We know that many build hopes upon our death; but
they are mistaken, and by Our Lady, they shall be disappointed."

"God preserve our gracious lord a thousand years!" exclaimed several
voices.

"An example should be made," said the man appealed to as Salcedo, "of
the traitors who dare spread lying reports concerning the royal health."

"'Tis too true," observed another, "that such rumours are used to the
most criminal ends."

"We will sit down," said the sick monarch. And with the assistance of
his attendants, he deposited his exhausted person in the elbow-chair.
"Drink, my friends, and tell me the news. Give me a cigar, good
Castillo. Senor Regato, how goes it? what is new in our fair city of
Madrid?"

"Little is heard," replied Geronimo, "save lamentations for the
indisposition of our beloved master."

"The good people!" exclaimed Ferdinand. "We will have care of their
happiness."

"And yet," said a little old man with a countenance of repulsive
ugliness, "there be reprobates who laugh whilst all true and faithful
subjects weep. There is my neighbour, t