The sound of her words still lingered like music in the warm air, when a silver bell sounded in the ante-room, the tapestry before the door was withdrawn, and a page entered, making a profound obeisance.
“Don Juan the King,” he said, “the most revered the Bishop of Avila waits without on urgent business of state. He comes as the messenger of the Conde de Luna; he has already conferred with the secretary, Don Diego de Bavena.”
At this announcement, the queen hastily left her seat, bowed low to Don Juan, who kissed her hand with the utmost ceremony and led her to the door, where she again saluted him before joining her dueñas-in-waiting.
But the words had been spoken, the impression made, and, however Isabel might resent the intrusion of the bishop, she had almost persuaded the king that the days of the haughty favourite were numbered.
Whatever were the faults or the misdeeds of the House of Trastamare, the courtesy of their manners was beyond dispute.
Nothing could have been more inopportune than the entrance of the Bishop of Avila, but Don Juan received him in so royal a fashion he could not for a moment have imagined he was not welcome.
“To what happy chance do I owe your presence?” asked the king.
“Nothing auspicious brings me to your Highness,” was the reply, “in place of the High Constable.”
“Is he not coming?” asked the king quickly, a look of relief spreading over his face.
“He is not; a most base calumny prevents him. The Conde de Luna is accused of having caused the assassination of Don Alfonso de Vivars. Until his sovereign publicly justifies him, he prefers to retire to his castle of Portello.”