Behind came Juan Galarza and the other squire mounted on good, strong mules. They alighted at the door of the church, according to Quijada's arrangement, and went to the High Altar, where he awaited them. Then he took them by the glazed door into the Emperor's bedroom; he handed Jeromín the present on the tray of silver, and the two went into the Emperor's room, Jeromín following.
The darkness added to the funereal aspect of the room, as the curtains had been drawn and the windows closed because of the heat. Jeromín, as Quijada had ordered him, groped his way to the wall on one side, and there stood very straight, with the tray in his hand. At first he could distinguish nothing, except a sort of mountain of black things, a white spot in the centre, and heavy breathing like that of an asthmatic old man. The Emperor received Doña Magdalena "con todo favor," as Juan Vázguez wrote to the secretary Gastelu. She was the only lady he received in Yuste except the Queens, Doña Elinor and Doña Maria; he sat up in his chair as much as his swollen knees allowed, and took off his thin silk cap. He gave his hand to be kissed, and, with all the grace and gallantry of his youth, then asked Quijada's permission to kiss the lady's. He ordered an arm-chair to be put near him, as if she had been a princess of the blood, and also ordered the curtains to be undrawn and the windows to be opened.
Then the light streamed in, and Jeromín could see what remained of that great Emperor, that hero of many battles: a bent old man, with a white beard, a sunken head, and a tired voice. He was lost in the cushions of his enormous chair, his legs covered with a rich and light quilt stuffed with feathers, a present from his daughter Princess Juana. At his side on a perch a beautiful parrot, and on his knees he had two tiny Indian kittens, which had been sent him a short time before by his sister Doña Catalina, the great widowed Queen of Portugal.
Jeromín remained awestruck before this ruin, till gaining courage he dared to look at him face to face. But at that moment the Emperor raised his head, and, as if by accident, his glance fell on the child. Jeromín shut his eyes and shrank up as if he saw a mountain falling on him. There was the Emperor, the hero of so many battles—he saw the eagle's glance which still had genius and glory in it, and which also had, as it looked on the child, something strange and deep, which was neither stern nor indifferent, but rather gentle and loving, though mixed with something which oppressed and terrified Jeromín, without his knowing why, because it was impossible for his innocent soul to perceive the dim shadows which remorse sheds on love.
All this only lasted a moment; Doña Magdalena spoke of her present, and Quijada ordered the child to approach and offer it. Jeromín did so, trembling like quicksilver, and knelt before the Emperor, lifting up the tray to him. The Emperor took what was on the tray with many expressions of pleasure and thanks, and placed the present on the table. Then he stretched out his crippled hand for Jeromín to kiss, and laid it for a moment on the fair head. At a sign from Luis Quijada, Jeromín returned to his place.
Meanwhile one of the Emperor's kittens had got away and ran to Jeromín and began to make friends and scramble up his legs. The Emperor laughed, and Jeromín, very confused, gently pushed the kitten away with his foot to make it go back to its place. The Emperor said, "Carry it here." Jeromín picked up the little animal and presented it to the Emperor on his knees.
The Emperor again gave his hand to be kissed, and placed it for a second time, for a moment, as if in benediction or as a caress, on Jeromín's head. They left as they had come in. On entering the church Jeromín pulled Doña Magdalena's skirt, and throwing himself into her arms began to cry. Astonished, she asked him what was the matter, and putting his little red mouth close to her ear, he whispered between his sobs, "I do not know, Lady Aunt, I do not know." Luis Quijada came and saw him crying, but did not ask the reason or reprove him, this time, for his tears.
CHAPTER XI
Jeromín never saw the Emperor near again; though from afar he did so in the garden, on the terrace, and sometimes in the church. On many of these occasions the Emperor also saw him, and then the boy felt the strange, earnest glance fixed upon him.