CHAPTER VII.THE ROYAL CHAMBER.
Tito entered the regal abode, neither regretting nor content with having established relations with Death. But as he ascended the stairs of the palace, and remembered that he was to see his idolized Elena, all lugubrious ideas disappeared, like night birds at the break of day.
With a brilliant escort of courtiers, and other personages of rank, he passed through galleries and salons toward the royal bed-chamber, whilst all admired the wonderful beauty and tender youth of the famous physician, whom Philip had sent from the Granja palace, as the last hope of human aid, to save the life of his son.
The two Courts were there, that of Louis and that of Philip. There were, so to speak, two rival powers, who for a week had lived inconstant warfare: there were the old servants of the first Bourbon branch, and the new ones whom the Regent of France (Philip of Orleans, the Generous), had grouped around the throne of Spain to prevent the ambitious ex-Duke of Anjou from seizing that of his grandfather; there were, in fact, the courtiers of the gentle, dying child, and those of his beautiful wife, the powerful daughter of the Regent, the renowned Duchess of Montpensier. The allies of Isabella Farnesio, stepmother of Louis I., desired his death, in order that the sons of the second marriage of Philip V. might be nearer the throne of St. Ferdinand.
The partisans of the young queen wished the sick monarch to live, not from any love of the quarrelsome pair, but from hate of Philip V. whom they did not wish to see again upon the throne.
The friends of the unfortunate Louis trembled at the idea of his death; for, having induced him to shake off the restraint which the hermit of the Granja exercised over him, they well knew that if the latter returned to power, his first act would be to exile or imprison them.The palace therefore was a labyrinth of opposed interests, various ambitions, intrigues, suspicions, hopes and fears.
Tito entered the chamber, searching in all directions for one face—that of his beloved Elena. Close to the king’s bed he saw her father, the Duke of Monteclaro, the close friend of the late Count of Rionuevo. He was speaking with the Archbishops of Santiago and Toledo, the Marquis de Mirabal, and Don Miguel de Guerra, the four most deadly enemies of Philip V. The Duke did not recognize the former page and youthful companion of his charming daughter. Across the room, and not without a certain feeling of fear, the Friend of Death recognized among the ladies who surrounded the young and beautiful Louisa Isabel of Orleans, the Countess of Rionuevo, his implacable and bitter enemy. Although he almost touched her, as he passed to kiss the queen’s hand, she did not recognize her husband’s son. Against a piece of tapestry, behind this group of ladies, he saw, among two or three others whom he did not know, a tall, pale, beautiful woman.
It was Elena de Monteclaro!
Tito gazed at her intently, while the young girl trembled at the sight of that beautiful and funereal face, as though looking upon the countenance of a dead lover; as if she saw, not Tito, but his ghost enveloped in a shroud; as if, in fact, she saw a being of the other world.
Tito in the Court, consoling the queen! that proud and haughty princess who treated all with disdain! Tito in that elegant dress, admired and respected by all the nobility! Ah! it must be a dream!... thought the charming Elena.
“Come, Doctor!” said the Marquis of Mirabal. “His Majesty has awakened.”
Tito made a painful effort to shake off the ecstasy which seized his whole being, on finding himself before his loved one, and approached that bed of disease.
The second Bourbon of Spain was a rickety youth of seventeen years, tall and thin, like a plant that grows in the shade.
His countenance (which did not lack a certain fineness of expression despite its irregularityof feature), was now frightfully swollen, and covered with ash-colored pustules. He appeared a coarse, clay imitation of a sculptured marble.
He directed an anxious look at the other youth who was approaching his bed, and encountering his dull and lustreless eyes, fathomless as the mystery of eternity, gave a shrill cry and hid his face beneath the sheets. Tito in the mean time looked about to discover Death. But Death was not there!
“Will he live?” asked several courtiers in a low voice, who believed they read hope in Tito’s expression.
He was about to say, “Yes,” (forgetting that his opinion was to be given only to Philip V.), when he felt someone touch his arm.
Turning, he saw standing near him at the head of the bed, a person dressed entirely in black.
It was Death.
“He will die of this illness, but not to-day,” thought Tito.
“How does he appear to you?” asked the Archbishop of Toledo, feeling as all did thatinvoluntary respect inspired by the youth’s supernatural appearance.
“Pardon me,” replied the ex-shoemaker, “my opinion is reserved for him who sent me.”
“But,” added the Marquis of Mirabal, “you who are so young, cannot have acquired so much scientific skill; undoubtedly God or the Devil has inspired you. You may be a saint who works miracles, or a magician, a friend of witches.”
“As you please,” responded Tito; “at any rate, I read the future of the king who lies in this bed; a secret of value to you, as it would enable you to solve the doubt whether to-morrow you will be the favorite of Louis I., or the prisoner of Philip V.”
“What!” stammered Mirabal, pale with anger, but smiling blandly.
At this moment Tito observed that Death, not content with having approached the monarch, took advantage of his visit to the royal chamber to seat himself beside a lady, almost in the same chair, and was regarding her fixedly.
The doomed victim was the Countess of Rionuevo.
“Three hours!” thought Tito.
“I must speak to you,” continued Mirabal, to whom had occurred the idea of purchasing the young physician’s secret.
But a glance and smile from Tito, who had divined his thoughts, so disconcerted him that he drew back.
The look and smile were the same which that morning had conquered Philip V.
During Mirabal’s confusion, Tito made a great step in his career, and established his reputation at Court.
“Sir,” said he to the Archbishop of Toledo, “the Countess of Rionuevo, whom you see seated alone in that corner” (we already know that Death was visible only to Tito), “will die in the course of three hours. Advise her to prepare for her last moments.”
The Archbishop recoiled with horror.
“What is it?” asked Don Miguel de Guerra.
The prelate related Tito’s prophecy to various persons, and all eyes were at once fixedupon the Countess, who actually began to grow deathly pale.
Meanwhile Tito approached Elena, who was standing in the middle of the room, silent and immovable as a statue; charmed, overcome, possessed of a terror and of a happiness that she could not herself define, she followed every movement of the friend of her childhood.
“Elena!” murmured the youth, as he reached her side.
“Tito!” she answered, mechanically, “is it indeed you?”
“Yes,” replied Tito, fondly, “’tis I; fear nothing.” And he left the apartment.
The Captain was awaiting him in the antechamber.
Tito wrote some words on paper, and said to Philip’s faithful retainer: “Take this to the Granja. Do not lose a moment.”
“And you,” replied the Captain, “I cannot leave you. You are a prisoner in my custody.”
“I place myself on parole,” proudly replied Tito, “for I cannot follow you.”
“But—the king!”
“The king will approve your conduct.”
“Impossible!”
“Listen! and you will see that I am right.”
At this moment they heard a great commotion in the royal chamber.
“The physician! the physician!” cried several persons, running from the room.
“What has happened?” asked Tito.
“The Countess of Rionuevo is dying,” said Don Miguel de Guerra. “Come this way, they have placed her in the queen’s bed-chamber.”
“Go, Captain!” said Tito, “I insist.”
And he accompanied these words with such a glance and gesture that the soldier departed without a word. Tito followed De Guerra into the queen’s chamber.