You should love your country too much not to fear such a result; for though you have murdered my brother in cold blood, I am too just to forget that you have proved your patriotism through a long and hitherto honourable career.  It is my duty to see that the causes of your atrocious action are perfectly clear to my subjects, so that no doubt may exist even in the most prejudiced minds.  Do you understand?  I repeat that if I have condescended to examine you alone, I have done so only out of a merciful desire to spare an old soldier the suffering and mortification of an examination by the tribunal that is to judge you.  Understand that.”

“I understand that and much more besides,” answered Mendoza, in low and savage tones.

“It is not necessary that you should understand or think that you understand anything more than what I say,” returned the King coldly.  “At what time did you go to his Highness’s apartments this evening?”

“Your Majesty knows.”

“I know nothing of it,” said the King, with the utmost calm.  “You were on duty after supper.  You escorted me to my apartments afterwards.  I had already sent for Perez, who came at once, and we remained here, busy with affairs, until I returned to the throne room, five minutes before you came and confessed the murder; did we not, Perez?”

“Most certainly, Sire,” answered the Secretary gravely.  “Your Majesty must have been at work with me an hour, at least, before returning to the throne room.”

“And your Majesty did not go with me by the private staircase to Don John of Austria’s apartment?” asked Mendoza, thunderstruck by the enormous falsehood.

“With you?” cried the King, in admirably feigned astonishment.  “What madness is this?  Do not write that down, Perez.  I really believe the man is beside himself!”

Mendoza groaned aloud, for he saw that he had been frightfully deceived.  In his magnificent generosity, he had assumed the guilt of the crime, being ready and willing to die for it quickly to save the King from blame and to put an end to his own miserable existence.  But he had expected death quickly, mercifully, within a few hours.  Had he suspected what Philip had meant to do,—­that he was to be publicly tried for a murder he had not committed, and held up to public hatred and ignominy for days and perhaps weeks together, while a slow tribunal dragged out its endless procedure,—­neither his loyalty nor his desire for death could have had power to bring his pride to such a sacrifice.  And now he saw that he was caught in a vise, and that no accusation he could bring against the King could save him, even if he were willing to resort to such a measure and so take back his word.  There was no witness for him but himself.  Don John was dead, and the infamous Perez was ready to swear that Philip had not left the room in which they had been closeted together.  There was not a living being to prove that Mendoza had not gone alone to Don John’s apartments