“Welcome, senhors,” said Senhor Policarpio. “I have done my best to entertain you; for, when such friends as you are honour me with their company, I like to be hospitable.” The two followers of the Marquis bowed at the compliment. “Ah! it is not every day I have this pleasure,” continued the host. “But never mind, we shall soon all see better days, when a certain friend of mine becomes higher than he even now is, and Senhor Don Joseph finishes his life. The sooner he does so the better, as far as I am concerned.”
We do not intend to detail the conversation of these worthy personages; indeed, it is so nearly illegible in the manuscript before us, that it would be a work of great labour to decipher it. During the time, Senhor Policarpio went to a closet, from which he produced three guns, or rather blunderbusses, praising their excellent qualities. At first sight of them, his guests seemed much alarmed by the observations he at the same time made; but, quickly recovering, he persuaded them to repair with him to a retired part of the garden, where they might exercise themselves by firing at a mark.
While they were thus occupied, the lovely Duchess of Aveiro was seated in her drawing-room, with her embroidery frame before her, gazing over the orange groves at the lovely scene which the Castle of Belem on one side, and the placid river, now shining in the light of the setting sun, and covered with vessels and boats, presented. A fine boy, of some fifteen years old, was in the room; her only son, the young Marquis of Gouvea. He was leaning against the side of the window opposite to her, regarding her with a look of affection and respect, when the Duke abruptly entered. He threw his hat on the table with an indignant air, as he exclaimed—“By Heavens! I have again been insulted by this King beyond all bearance! He has had the audacity to declare to me that my son, forsooth, cannot marry the daughter of the Duke of Cadaval; and when I demanded his reasons for the refusal, he chose to give none. I told him that they were betrothed, and that I had set my heart on the match, as one in every way suitable to both parties; when he only answered, that he had arranged it differently. What say you, my son? how do you like losing a fair bride through the caprice of a tyrant?”
“That I wish I were a man, to carry her off in spite of him,” answered the young Marquis.
“Spoken like my son!” exclaimed the Duke. “But you shall not be disappointed. His days are numbered; and then we shall see who will venture to dispute our authority.”
At these words the Duchess looked anxiously up at her husband. “I trust that you allude not to the designs you once spoke to me about,” she said. “I had long hoped you had abandoned them.”
“Why did you nourish so foolish a hope, lady?” exclaimed the Duke. “I should have thought my wife was equally interested with myself in their success.”
“I hoped so because I feel convinced that they cannot fail to bring destruction on yourself, and ruin on all your family; to drag many to the scaffold, if you are unsuccessful; and to introduce the horrors of a civil war into the country should they succeed: but such cannot be; Heaven will not favour so guilty a purpose. Oh! hear me, my lord. Abandon the dark and evil designs you have meditated. If you have any remaining love for your wife, if you regard the interests of your son, think not again of them.”
The Duke laughed scornfully, as he asked, “What! would you not wish to be a queen, and see your son a prince?”
“I would far rather be a peasant’s wife, than the queen of a blood-stained usurper; for, to become a king, such you must be,” answered the Duchess, boldly. “No, my lord, I would not be cheated of my happiness by so deceitful a phantom.”