“God preserve our gracious lord a thousand years!” exclaimed several voices.
“An example should be made,” said the man appealed to as Salcedo, “of the traitors who dare spread lying reports concerning the royal health.”
“’Tis too true,” observed another, “that such rumours are used to the most criminal ends.”
“We will sit down,” said the sick monarch. And with the assistance of his attendants, he deposited his exhausted person in the elbow-chair. “Drink, my friends, and tell me the news. Give me a cigar, good Castillo. Señor Regato, how goes it? what is new in our fair city of Madrid?”
“Little is heard,” replied Geronimo, “save lamentations for the indisposition of our beloved master.”
“The good people!” exclaimed Ferdinand. “We will have care of their happiness.”
“And yet,” said a little old man with a countenance of repulsive ugliness, “there be reprobates who laugh whilst all true and faithful subjects weep. There is my neighbour, the merchant Alvaro. Yesterday he married his daughter to a young nobleman, Don Francisco Palavar, who claims relationship with the Marquis of Santa Cruz. The wedding-guests were numerous; they sang and danced, and rejoiced beyond measure. Señor Alvaro, said I, are you not ashamed to be so joyous at such a time? ‘Friend,’ was his answer, ‘let the times wag—they are certainly bad enough, but must soon change. All things have an end. We rejoice in hopes of a better future.’”
“The wretch!” exclaimed another of the camarilla. “I know him well; he was always a negro.”
“A knave grown grey in the sins of the Exaltados,” cried a third.