"Is that what he said, Perez?" asked Philip, speaking to the Secretary without looking at him. "Read that."
"He said: I have long resented his Highness's admiration for my daughter," answered Perez, reading from his notes.
"You see," said the King. "You resented it. That is resentment. I was right. Be careful, Mendoza, for your words may be used against you to-morrow. Say precisely what you mean, and nothing but what you mean."
Mendoza inclined his head rather proudly, for he detested Antonio Perez, and it appeared to him that the King was playing a sort of comedy for the Secretary's benefit. It seemed an unworthy interlude in what was really a solemn tragedy.
"Why did you resent his Highness's courtship of your daughter?" enquired Philip presently, continuing his cross-examination.
"Because I never believed that there could be a real marriage," answered Mendoza boldly. "I believed that my child must become the toy and plaything of Don John of Austria, or else that if his Highness married her, the marriage would soon be declared void, in order that he might marry a more important personage."
"Set that down," said the King to Perez, in a sharp tone. "Set that down exactly. It is important." He waited till the Secretary's pen stopped before he went on. His next question came suddenly.
"How could a marriage consecrated by our holy religion ever be declared null and void?"
"Easily enough, if your Majesty wished it," answered Mendoza unguardedly, for his temper was slowly heating.
"Write down that answer, Perez. In other words, Mendoza, you think that I have no respect for the sacrament of marriage, which I would at any time cause to be revoked to suit my political purposes. Is that what you think?"