He was about to say, “Yes,” (forgetting that his opinion was to be given only to Philip V.), when he felt someone touch his arm.
Turning, he saw standing near him at the head of the bed, a person dressed entirely in black.
It was Death.
“He will die of this illness, but not to-day,” thought Tito.
“How does he appear to you?” asked the Archbishop of Toledo, feeling as all did that involuntary respect inspired by the youth’s supernatural appearance.
“Pardon me,” replied the ex-shoemaker, “my opinion is reserved for him who sent me.”
“But,” added the Marquis of Mirabal, “you who are so young, cannot have acquired so much scientific skill; undoubtedly God or the Devil has inspired you. You may be a saint who works miracles, or a magician, a friend of witches.”
“As you please,” responded Tito; “at any rate, I read the future of the king who lies in this bed; a secret of value to you, as it would enable you to solve the doubt whether to-morrow you will be the favorite of Louis I., or the prisoner of Philip V.”
“What!” stammered Mirabal, pale with anger, but smiling blandly.
At this moment Tito observed that Death, not content with having approached the monarch, took advantage of his visit to the royal chamber to seat himself beside a lady, almost in the same chair, and was regarding her fixedly.