“I tell you it is nothing,” interrupted Don John.  “Do as I order you, and bring Dona Dolores.  Give me that drink there, first—­from the little table.  In a quarter of an hour I shall be quite well again.  I have been as badly stunned before when my horse has fallen with me at a barrier.”

The jester swung quickly to the table, in his awkward, bow-legged gait, and brought the beaker that stood there.  Don John drank eagerly, for his lips were parched with pain.

“Go!” he said imperatively.  “And come back quickly.”

“I will go,” said Adonis.  “But I may not come back quickly, for I believe that Dona Dolores is with his Majesty at this moment, or with her father, unless the three are together.  Since it has pleased your Highness not to remain dead, it would have been much simpler not to die at all, for your Highness’s premature death has caused trouble which your Highness’s premature resurrection may not quickly set right.”

“The sooner you bring Dona Dolores, the sooner the tremble will be over,” said Don John.  “Go at once, and do your best.”

Adonis rolled away, shaking his head and almost touching the floor with his hands as he walked.

“So the Last Trumpet is not merely another of those priests’ tales!” he muttered.  “I shall meet Don Carlos on the terrace, and the Emperor in the corridor, no doubt!  They might give a man time to confess his sins.  It was unnecessary that the end of the world should come so suddenly!”

The last words of his jest were spoken to himself, for he was already outside when he uttered them, and he had no intention of wasting time in bearing the good news to Dolores.  The difficulty was to find her.  He had been a witness of the scene in the hall from the balcony, and he guessed that when she left the hall with Ruy Gomez she would go either to her father or the King.  It would not be an easy matter to see her, and it was by no means beyond the bounds of possibility that he might be altogether hindered from doing so, unless he at once announced to every one he met the astounding fact that Don John was alive after all.  He was strongly tempted to do that, without waiting, for it seemed by far the most sensible thing to do in the disturbed state of the court; but it was his business to serve and amuse many masters, and his office, if not his life, depended upon obeying each in turn and finding the right jest for each.  He placed the King highest, of course, among those he had to please, and before he had gone far in the corridor he slackened his pace to give himself time to think over the situation.  Either the King had meant to kill Don John himself, or he had ordered Mendoza to do so.  That much was clear to any one who had known the secret of Don Carlos’ death, and the dwarf had been one of the last who had talked with the unfortunate Prince before that dark tragedy.  And on this present night he had seen everything, and knew more of the thoughts of each