The words were an electric shock to the camarilla. The King started, and showed symptoms of extraordinary agitation. “What is that? Who says that?” he cried, rising from his chair with the vigour of sudden excitement. “Who knows of the document? where is it? Seize him—he shall explain—confess!”
“Seize the scoundrel,” cried Tadeo, “who has dared intrude himself hither.”
“My guards! my guards!” cried the King, his eyes rolling wildly, his features frightfully convulsed. “Where is the paper? Tadeo, I will have it back! Ha! what is this! mercy! blessed Virgin, mer——!” The word was unfinished; and Ferdinand, doubly tortured by bodily pain and mental anguish, fell back into the arms of his physician.
“The King is dead!” exclaimed Tadeo. “Help here!”
The camarilla crowded round Ferdinand, who lay without sense or motion. “What is it, Señor Castillo?” said Tadeo. The physician let fall his patient’s wrist.
“A sudden paroxysm, your Excellency,” he replied in a low voice. “It was to be apprehended—all is over!”
The Count turned away, and his eye fell upon Federico, who, seeing resistance useless, stood passive in the custody of several of the camarilla. With a vindictive frown, Tadeo pulled open the student’s cloak, and pointed to his skirtless coat.
“You cannot deny it,” he said. “The proof of your guilt is in my possession. Who is the fellow?”
Geronimo Regato stepped forward and stared in the student’s face.