Bang, bang! the halberds came down again in another salute. I looked behind to see who was coming. Nobody, we were the only people on the stair.
“Can that be for you?” I cried.
“Oh, no!” laughed Villegas. “For this,” touching the decoration he wore, “or possibly for the Director of the Prado.”
We entered a room paved with marble, ceiled with porcelain, hung with ivory satin embroidered in gold. It was filled comfortably, not crowded. Many of the uniforms were very handsome; some of the ladies were sumptuously dressed, with beautiful jewels, others wore very simple evening gowns. In Spain you cannot judge people by what they wear; they dare to be poor here as nowhere else. The King and Queen were receiving the Ambassadors in the Salon de Embajadores. This we could not see at the time. Later in the evening we went in and admired the superb throne with its four steps guarded by big gilt lions, the rock crystal and silver chandeliers, the painted ceiling by Tiepolo, representing the “Majesty of Spain.” Standing under this picture, the King said to one of the Ambassadors:
“Well, here I am, you see. I came very near not being with you to-night!”
A little later the King and Queen made the tour of the apartments leading from the throne rooms. The crowd here was so great that we could see nothing but two lines of people bowing and curtseying as the royal cortége passed down the middle.
“Come,” said Villegas, “you can see nothing here.” He led us through hall after hall. I caught glimpses of a marble room and a porcelain room, of cabinets filled with precious pictures, sculpture and bric-a-brac. We halted in a perfectly empty gallery hung with the most astonishing tapestries.
“Flemish,” said Villegas, “but unlike any others ever made in Flanders. Miré, they are worked with silver and gold thread.”
While we were looking at the wonderful tapestries, and puzzling out the subjects, Isabel and Larz Anderson came into the room. We were all studying the tapestry representing the “Conquest of Tunis” when we heard voices, and suddenly, without a moment’s warning, the royal party entered the gallery. The King and Queen walked first. Don Alfonzo wore a white broadcloth uniform. The Queen looked charming; there was no trace of what she had endured in her radiant complexion or her calm blue eyes. She wore white satin brocaded with little pink and blue velvet flowers, and on her head the new diamond crown made especially for her, Engracia had told us about. It was small, of the real classic shape, like the crown of the queen in Walter Crane’s picture book.
The King and Queen both bowed and smiled to the Andersons and ourselves. Then Don Alfonzo, recognizing the Maestro, waved his hand and cried out in a cheery genial voice: