Don Gusman looked up for an instant upon the circle of faces which surrounded him, but his sang froid did not abandon him.
"Never have I played in the presence of such a noble company!" he cried. "Bear witness, rascals, that at least once in my life I have beaten Don Lopez." Then he returned to the game with a smile upon his lips. The Bishop gripped the handle of the axe which he still held in his hand.
"If I were only sure of escaping from this tigers' den," he thought, "I would break every head of the four of them."
III.
If three hours had dragged in the prisoner's cell, they had not passed more quickly in the Royal chamber of King Philip.
The King had finished his game with Don Ramirez de Biscay, and the nobles, still compelled from etiquette to remain standing, appeared almost ready to drop with fatigue, rendered still more painful from the weight of their armour.
Don Tarraxas stood motionless, with closed eyes like one of those iron figures which ornamented the castles of the savage Goths. Young D'Ossuna, with drooping head, stood propped against a marble pillar, whilst King Philip strode impatiently about the apartment, only stopping at intervals to listen to some imaginary noise. According to the superstitious custom of the age, the King knelt for a few moments at the foot of a figure of the Virgin placed upon a porphyry pedestal to pray the Madonna to pardon him the deed of blood which was about to take place. Silence reigned, for no one, whatever his rank might be, dared to speak before his Sovereign without his commands.
As the King's eyes saw the last grain of sand fall in the hour-glass he uttered an exclamation of joy.
"The traitor dies!" he cried.
An almost inaudible murmur ran through the assembly.