The Marchioness was eloquent in her thanks, and Beramendi could only say: “Señora, the kindness of Your Majesty is unbounded.... How can we express our gratitude to Your Majesty?”
But the Marquis said to himself: “We take it, because even as you accept our lying homage, so we receive these signs of vanity. King and people we deceive each other; we give you painted rags of flattery, which look like flowers, and you bestow honours on us which take the place of real affection.”
Isabella continued: “I must give you a title of Count or Viscount, which your son can take when he comes of age.”
The Marquis’s wife returned: “Our Queen is always so good; that is why the Spaniards love her so.”
“Ah, no, no!” exclaimed Isabella in a melancholy tone, “they do not love me as they did.... And many really hate me, and yet God knows I have not changed in my love for the Spaniards.... But things have got all wrong.... I don’t know how it is ... it is through the heated passions of one and the other. But, Beramendi, it is not my fault.”
“No, indeed,” returned the courtier; “you have not caused this embroiled state of affairs. It is the work of the statesmen, who are moved by ambition and egoism.”
This indeed was true, for even as Serrano used the Queen’s favour to his own ends, and had his debts twice paid by Her Majesty, he was the first to lead the country against her.
“Do you think that matters will improve, and that passions will calm down?” asked Isabella anxiously.
“Oh, señora, I hope that the Government will confirm your authority, and that those that are in rebellion will recognize their error.”
“That is what they all say,” said Isabella, with a little satirical smile. “We shall see how things will turn out. I trust in God, and I don’t believe He will forsake me.”