“Do not put the sword away,” she heard him say.  “Leave it here on the table.”

Of course; what should he do with a sword in his court dress?  But if he had met her father in the corridor, coming to her after the supper, he would have been unarmed.  Her father, on the contrary, being on actual duty, wore the sword of his rank, like any other officer of the guards, and the King wore a rapier as a part of his state dress.

She was astonished at the distinctness with which she heard what was said in the next room.  That was doubtless due to the construction of the vault, as she vaguely guessed.  It was true that Don John spoke very clearly, but she could hear the servants’ subdued answers almost as well, when she listened.  It seemed to her that he took but a very short time to dress.

“I have the key of that room,” he said presently.  “I have my papers there.  You are at liberty till midnight.  My hat, my gloves.  Call my gentlemen, one of you, and tell them to meet me in the corridor.”

She could almost hear him drawing on his gloves.  One of the servants went out.

“Fadrique,” said Don John, “leave out my riding-cloak.  I may like to walk on the terrace in the moonlight, and it is cold.  Have my drink ready at midnight and wait for me.  Send Gil to sleep, for he was up last night.”

There was a strange pleasure in hearing his familiar orders and small directions and in seeing how thoughtful he was for his servants.  She knew that he had always refused to be surrounded by valets and gentlemen-in-waiting, and lived very simply when he could, but it was different to be brought into such close contact with his life.  There was a wonderful gentleness in his ways that contrasted widely with her father’s despotic manner and harsh tone when he gave orders.  Mendoza believed himself the type and model of a soldier and a gentleman, and he maintained that without rigid discipline there could be no order and no safety at home or in the army.  But between him and Don John there was all the difference that separates the born leader of men from the mere martinet.

Dolores listened.  It was clear that Don John was not going to send Fadrique away in order to see her again before he went down to the throne room, though she had almost hoped he might.

On the contrary, some one else came.  She heard Fadrique announce him.

“The Captain Don Juan de Escobedo is in waiting, your Highness,” said the servant.  “There is also Adonis.”

“Adonis!” Don John laughed, not at the name, for it was familiar to him, but at the mere mention of the person who bore it and who was the King’s dwarf jester, Miguel de Antona, commonly known by his classic nickname.  “Bring Adonis here—­he is an old friend.”

The door opened again, and Dolores heard the well-known voice of the hunchback, clear as a woman’s, scornful and full of evil laughter,—­the sort of voice that is heard instantly in a crowd, though it is not always recognizable.  The fellow came in, talking loud.