Farnese entered.
“He sleeps,” said Francisco Orantes.
The Prince of Parma made no answer; a slight convulsion shook him, and his face was swept with a look of limitless pride and ambition which distorted his fine features hideously.
The priest glanced up at him and shrunk away.
“This seems a foul end for one who loved life so,” he muttered.
Farnese fingered his long gemmed chain.
“You serve Philip,” he answered coldly.
Don Juan struggled back to consciousness, opened his eyes and looked up at the two bending over him; a sensation that he had never known before in all his life overcame him–a sensation of wild fear.
He fought with his weakness and dragged himself up.
“Is there no one to help me?” he implored. “To save me from Philip and Philip’s men! Jésu whom I served in Africa do not let me die this way!”