Federico bowed. The door turned noiselessly on its hinges, and the Queen paused a moment as in anger and surprise, whilst a dark glow flushed her excited and passionate countenance. From the door a view was commanded of the whole apartment, which was dimly lighted, and occupied by several persons, standing in a half-circle, round a bed placed near a marble chimney-piece. Upon this bed, propped by cushions into a half-sitting posture, lay Ferdinand VII., his suffering features and livid complexion looking ghastly and spectral in the faint light, and contrasted with the snow-white linen of his pillow. A black-robed priest knelt at his feet, and mumbled the prayer for the dying; Castillo the physician held his arm, and reckoned the slow throbs of the feeble pulse. At the bedside sat a lady, her hands folded on the velvet counterpane, her large dark eyes glancing uneasily, almost fiercely, around the room—her countenance by no means that of a sorrowing and resigned mourner.
“The document!” groaned the sick man, with painful effort; “the document, where is it? To your hands I intrusted it; from you I claim it back. Produce it instantly.”
“My gracious sovereign,” replied the person addressed—and at the sound of that sinister voice, Federico felt Rosaura’s hand tremble in his—“my gracious sovereign, that paper, that weighty and important document, signed after wise and long deliberation, cannot thus lightly be revoked by a momentary impulse.”
“Where is it?” interrupted the King, angrily.
“In the safest keeping.”
“In the hands of the Infante,” cried the Queen, entering the room, and approaching the bed.
“Traitor!” exclaimed Ferdinand, making a violent but fruitless effort to raise himself. “Is it thus you repay my confidence?”
“Hear me, gracious sir,” cried Tadeo; but his tongue faltered, and he turned deadly pale, for just then he perceived Rosaura, Federico, and Regato standing at the door.
“Hear these,” said the Queen, placing her arm affectionately round her suffering husband, and bowing her head over him, whilst tears, real or feigned, of sympathy or passion, fell fast from her eyes. “They have betrayed you, Sire; they have abused your confidence; they have conspired against me, against you, against your innocent children. Approach, Don Federico; speak freely and fearlessly. You are under the safeguard of your King, who demands of you the entire truth.”
“Enough!” said Ferdinand; “I have read the young man’s deposition. Look at it, sir,” he added, to Tadeo, pointing to the paper, “and deny it if you can.”