Mendoza wished that he could.

“Madam,” he said almost roughly, “I have shut my daughter up in her own room and bolted the door, and to-morrow I intend to send her to a convent, and there she shall stay until she changes her mind, for I will not change mine”

“Oh!” ejaculated Dona Ana, with a long intonation, as if grasping the position of affairs by degrees.  “I understand,” she said, after a long time.  “But then you and I are of the same opinion, my dear friend.  Let us talk about this.”

Mendoza did not wish to talk of the matter at all, and said nothing, as they slowly advanced.  They had at last reached the passage that ended at his door, and he slackened his pace still more, obliging his companion, whose arm was still in his, to keep pace with him.  The moonlight no longer shone in straight through the open embrasures, and there was a dim twilight in the corridor.

“You do not wish Dolores to marry Don John of Austria, then,” said the Princess presently, in very low tones.  “Then the King is on your side, and so am I. But I should like to know your reason for objecting to such a very great marriage.”

“Simple enough, Madam.  Whenever it should please his Majesty’s policy to marry his brother to a royal personage, such as Queen Mary of Scotland, the first marriage would be proved null and void, because the King would command that it should be so, and my daughter would be a dishonoured woman, fit for nothing but a convent.”

“Do you call that dishonour?” asked the Princess thoughtfully.  “Even if that happened, you know that Don John would probably not abandon Dolores.  He would keep her near him—­and provide for her generously—­”

“Madam!” cried the brave old soldier, interrupting her in sudden and generous anger, “neither man nor woman shall tell me that my daughter could ever fall to that!”

She saw that she had made a mistake, and pressed his arm soothingly.

“Pray, do not be angry with me, my dear friend.  I was thinking what the world would say—­no, let me speak!  I am quite of your opinion that Dolores should be kept from seeing Don John, even by quiet force if necessary, for they will certainly be married at the very first opportunity they can find.  But you cannot do such things violently, you know.  You will make a scandal.  You cannot take your daughter away from court suddenly and shut her up in a convent without doing her a great injury.  Do you not see that?  People will not understand that you will not let her marry Don John—­I mean that most people would find it hard to believe.  Yes, the world is bad, I know; what can one do?  The world would say—­promise me that you will not be angry, dear General!  You can guess what the world would say."’

“I see—­I see!” exclaimed the old man, in sudden terror for his daughter’s good name.  “How wise you are!”