“You speak too plainly, señor,” he said. His subtle mind disliked boldness of speech and action; he had always been annoyed by these qualities in Don Juan.
“I have done with pretences,” answered the Prince. “I think I must be dying, for I care very little what happens on earth–yet I have some curiosity; it is because of that I sent for you—” he paused gathering his strength. “Why hath the King forsaken me?” he asked intensely.
“Even if this were so,” said Alessandro Farnese, “how should I know it?”
“It is so and you know it,” replied Don Juan. “The King hath cast me down, and he is putting you in my place.”
The Prince of Parma lifted his dark, arched brows.
“The mind of your Highness is still bemused by your sickness,” he answered soothingly. “Any hour may bring a post from Madrid.”
Don Juan dropped from his elbow, and his head sank on the gold brocade cushions.
“I was lost when they killed Escovedo,” he muttered; “there went my last friend. It would have been more honourable to die on the battle-field—”
Farnese answered smoothly–
“Your Highness will win many battles yet.”