Others came after in the long train.  Then, last of all, at a little distance from the rest, the jester entered, affecting a very dejected air.  He stood still a while on the platform, looking about as if to see whether a seat had been reserved for him, and then, shaking his head sadly, he crouched down, a heap of scarlet velvet with a man’s face, just at Don John’s feet, and turning a little towards him, so as to watch his eyes.  But Don John would not look at him, and was surprised that he should put himself there, having just been dismissed with a sharp reprimand for bringing women’s messages.

The ceremony, if it can be called by that name, began almost as soon as all were seated.  At a sign from the King, Don Antonio Perez rose and read out a document which he had brought in his hand.  It was a sort of throne speech, and set forth briefly, in very measured terms, the results of the long campaign against the Moriscoes, according high praise to the army in general, and containing a few congratulatory phrases addressed to Don John himself.  The audience of nobles listened attentively, and whenever the leader’s name occurred, the suppressed flutter of enthusiasm ran through the hall like a breeze that stirs forest leaves in summer; but when the King was mentioned the silence was dead and unbroken.  Don John sat quite still, looking down a little, and now and then his colour deepened perceptibly.  The speech did not hint at any reward or further distinction to be conferred on him.

When Perez had finished reading, he paused a moment, and the hand that held the paper fell to his side.  Then he raised his voice to a higher key.

“God save his Majesty Don Philip Second!” be cried.  “Long live the King!”

The courtiers answered the cheer, but moderately, as a matter of course, and without enthusiasm, repeating it three times.  But at the last time a single woman’s voice, high and clear above all the rest, cried out other words.

“God save Don John of Austria!  Long live Don John of Austria!”

The whole multitude of men and women was stirred at once, for every heart was in the cheer, and in an instant, courtiers though they were, the King was forgotten, the time, the place, and the cry went up all at once, full, long and loud, shaming the one that had gone before it.

King Philip’s hands strained at the arms of his great chair, and he half rose, as if to command silence; and Don John, suddenly pale, had half risen, too, stretching out his open hand in a gesture of deprecation, while the Queen watched him with timidly admiring eyes, and the dark Princess of Eboli’s dusky lids drooped to hide her own, for she was watching him also, but with other thoughts.  For a few seconds longer, the cheers followed each other, and then they died away to a comparative silence.  The dwarf rocked himself, his head between his knees, at Don John’s feet.

“God save the Fool!” he cried softly, mimicking the cheer, and he seemed to shake all over, as he sat huddled together, swinging himself to and fro.