Era aquel día el cumpleaños de la infanta. Cumplía los doce años, y el sol brillaba con esplendor en los jardines del palacio.

Aunque realmente era princesa y era la infanta de España, sólo tenía un cumpleaños cada año, exactamente como los hijos de la gente muy pobre; así, era cosa de grande importancia para todo el país que la infanta tuviera un gran día en tales ocasiones. Y aquel día era magnífico en verdad. Los altos y rayados tulipanes se erguían sobre los tallos, como en largo desfile militar, y miraban, retadores, a las rosas, diciéndoles: «Somos tan espléndidos como vosotras.» Las mariposas purpúreas revoloteaban, llenas de polvo de oro las alas, visitando a las flores una por una; los lagartos salían de entre las grietas del muro y se calentaban al sol; las granadas se cuarteaban y entreabrían con el calor, y se veía sangrante su corazón rojo. Hasta los pálidos lines amarillos, que colgaban en profusión de las carcomidas espalderas, y a lo largo de las arcadas oscuras, parecían haber robado mayor viveza de color a la maravillosa luz solar, y las magnolias abrían sus grandes flores, semejantes a globos de marfil, y llenaban el aire de dulce aroma enervante.

La princesita paseaba en la terraza con sus compañeros y jugaba al escondite entre los jarrones de piedra y las viejas estatuas cubiertas de musgo. En los días ordinarios sólo se le permitía jugar con niños de su propia alcurnia, de manera que tenía que jugar sola; pero su cumpleaños formaba excepción, y el rey había ordenado que invitara a sus amistades preferidas para que jugaran con ella. Tenían los esbeltos niños españoles gracia majestuosa de movimientos, los muchachos con sus sombreros de gran pluma y sus capas cortas flotantes; las niñas recogiéndose la cola de los largos trajes de brocado y protegiéndose los ojos contra el sol con enormes abanicos negros y argentados. Pero la infanta era la más graciosa de todas, la que iba vestida con mayor gusto, dentro de la moda algo incómoda de aquel tiempo. Su traje era de raso gris, la falda y las anchas mangas de bullones estaban bordadas con plata, el rígido corpiño adornado con hileras de perlas finas. Al andar, debajo del traje surgían dos diminutos zapatitos con rosetas color de rosa. Rosa y perla era su gran abanico de gasa, y en el cabello, que formaba una aureola de oro viejo en torno a su carita pálida, llevaba una linda rosa blanca.

Desde una ventana del palacio los contemplaba el melancólico rey. Detrás de él se hallaba en pie su hermano, don Pedro de Aragón, a quien odiaba; su confesor, el gran inquisidor de Granada, se hallaba sentado junto a él. Más triste que de costumbre estaba el rey, porque al ver a la infanta saludando con infantil gravedad a los cortesanos reunidos, o riéndose tras el abanico de la ceñuda duquesa de Alburquerque, que la acompañaba siempre, pensaba en la joven reina, su madre, que poco tiempo antes -así le parecía aún- había llegado del alegre país de Francia, y se había marchitado entre el sombrío esplendor de la corte española, muriendo seis meses después del nacimiento de su hija, antes de haber visto florecer dos veces los almendros en el huerto, o de haber arrancado por segunda vez los frutos de la vieja higuera nudosa que había en el centro del patio, cubierto ahora de hierba. Tan grande había sido el amor que tuvo el rey a su esposa, que no permitió que la tumba los separara. La reina fue embalsamada por un médico moro, a quien por tal servicio le había sido perdonada la vida, condenada ya por el Santo Oficio, en juicio por herejía y sospecha de prácticas mágicas; y el cuerpo yacía aún dentro del féretro, forrado de tapices, en la capilla de mármol negro del palacio, tal como lo habían depositado allí los monjes aquel ventoso día de marzo, doce años atrás. Una vez al mes, el rey, envuelto en una capa oscura y llevando en la mano una linterna sorda, entraba allí y se arrodillaba junto a ella exclamando: «¡Mi reina! ¡Mi reina!».  A veces, faltando a la etiqueta formalista que gobierna en España cada acto de la vida, y que pone límites hasta a la pena de un rey, asía las pálidas manos enjoyadas, en loco paroxismo de dolor, y trataba de reanimar con sus besos la fría cara pintada.

Hoy creía verla de nuevo, como la vió por primera vez en el castillo de Fontainebleau, cuando tenía él apenas quince años de edad, y ella menos aún. En aquella ocasión contrajeron esponsales, que bendijo el nuncio del Papa en presencia del rey de Francia y de toda la corte, y él regresó a El Escorial, llevando consigo un mechón de cabellos rubios y el recuerdo de los labios infantiles que se inclinaban para besarle la mano cuando subió a su carruaje. Más adelante, se efectuó el matrimonio en Burgos, y la gran entrada pública en Madrid con la acostumbrada misa solemne en la iglesia de la Virgen de Atocha, y un auto de fe más importante que de costumbre, en el cual se relajaron al brazo secular para ser quemados cerca de trescientos herejes, entre ellos muchos ingleses.

En verdad, el rey amó a la reina con locura, lo cual no dejó de contribuir, según pensaban muchos, a la ruina de su país, a quien Inglaterra disputaba entonces sus posesiones del Nuevo Mundo. Apenas la dejaba apartarse de su lado, porque había olvidado, o parecía olvidar, todos los graves asuntos del Estado; y con la terrible locura que la pasión da a sus víctimas, no advirtió que las complicadas ceremonias con que trataba de divertirla no hacían sino agravar la enfermedad extraña que sufría. Cuando murió la reina, el rey quedó como privado de razón durante algún tiempo. No cabe duda de que hubiera abdicado formalmente y se hubiera retirado al gran monasterio trapense de Granada, del cual era ya prior titular, si no hubiera temido dejar a la infantita entregada a la merced de su hermano, cuya crueldad aun en España era notoria, y de quien muchos sospechaban que había causado la muerte de la reina con un par de guantes envenenados que le regalara en su castillo de Aragón al visitarlo ella. Aun después de expirar los tres años de luto que había ordenado por edicto real para todos sus dominios, nunca permitió a sus ministros que le hablaran de nuevos matrimonios, y cuando el emperador le hizo ofrecer la mano de su sobrina, la encantadora archiduquesa de Bohemia, rogó a los embajadores dijeran a su señor que él, rey de España, estaba desposado con la Tristeza, y que aunque ella fuese una esposa estéril, la amaba más que a la Belleza; respuesta que costó a su corona las ricas provincias de los Países Bajos, que bien pronto, a instigación del emperador, se rebelaron contra él bajo la dirección de fanáticos de la Reforma.

Toda su vida matrimonial, con sus alegrías ardientes y el dolor terrible de su fin súbito, parecía revivir ante él ahora, al ver a la infanta jugar en la terraza. Tenía toda la graciosa petulancia de la reina, la misma manera voluntariosa de mover la cabeza, la misma orgullosa boca de lindas curvas, la misma sonrisa maravillosa, vrai sourire de France, al mirar de tarde en tarde hacia la ventana, o al extender su manecita para que la besaran los majestuosos caballeros españoles. Pero la aguda risa de los niños molestaba los oídos del rey, y la viva, implacable luz del sol se burlaba de su tristeza, y un olor tenue de aromas extraños, aromas como los que emplean los embalsamadores, parecía difundirse -¿o era sólo imaginación?- en el aire claro de la mañana. Escondió la cara entre las manos, y cuando la infanta miró de nuevo hacia arriba, se habían cerrado las cortinas y el rey se habla retirado.

Hizo la niña una moue de contrariedad y se encogió de hombros. Bien podía haberse quedado el rey a verla jugar en su día de natales. ¿Qué importaban los ridículos asuntos del Estado? ¿O se había ido a meter en la capilla tenebrosa, donde siempre ardían velas y a donde nunca le permitían a ella entrar? ¡Qué tontería, cuando el sol brillaba con tanta viveza y todo el mundo estaba tan contento! Además, iba a perder el simulacro de corrida de toros, para el cual sonaba ya la trompeta, sin contar la comedia de títeres y las otras cosas maravillosas. Su tío y el gran inquisidor eran mucho más sensatos. Habían salido a la terraza y le hacían finos cumplimientos. Sacudió, pues, la cabecita, y tomando la mano de don Pedro descendió lentamente las escaleras y se dirigió hacia el amplio pabellón de seda púrpura erigido en uno de los extremos del jardín. Los otros niños la siguieron, marchando en orden estricto de precedencia: los que tenían los nombres más largos iban delante.

Salió a recibirla una procesión de niños nobles, fantásticamente vestidos de toreros, y el joven conde de Tierra Nueva, hermosísimo adolescente de unos catorce años de edad, descubriéndose la cabeza con toda la gracia que dan el nacimiento hidalgo y la grandeza de España, la acompañó solemnemente hasta una silla pequeña de oro y marfil, colocada sobre el estrado que dominaba el redondel. Los niños se agruparon en torno, agitando las niñas sus abanicos y cuchicheando entre sí, mientras don Pedro y el gran inquisidor, en la entrada, observaban y reían. Hasta la duquesa -la camarera mayor se le llamaba-, mujer delgada, de facciones duras, con gorguera amarilla, no parecía de tan mal humor como otras veces, y algo semejante a una fría sonrisa vagaba en su cara arrugada y crispaba sus labios, delgados y exangües.

Era aquella una corrida de toros maravillosa, y muy superior -pensaba la infanta- a la corrida verdadera a que la llevaron en Sevilla cuando la visita del duque de Parma a su padre. Algunos de los muchachos caracoleaban sobre caballos de palo ricamente enjaezados, blandiendo largas picas con alegres gallardetes de cintas de colores vivos; otros iban a pie, agitando sus capas escarlatas ante el toro y saltando la barrera cuando les embestía. Y el toro parecía un animal vivo, aunque estaba hecho de mimbres y cubierto con una piel disecada; a veces corría por el redondel sobre sus patas traseras, cosa que ningún otro toro haría. Se defendió espléndidamente, y los niños se excitaron tanto, que se subieron sobre los bancos, y, agitando sus pañuelos de encaje, gritaban: «¡Bravo toro! ¡Bravo toro!», con igual sensatez que la que suelen mostrar las personas mayores. Por fin, después de prolongada lidia, durante la cual algunos de los caballos de palo fueron despanzurrados y derribados sus jinetes, el joven conde de Tierra Nueva hizo caer el toro a sus pies, y, habiendo obtenido permiso de la infanta para darle el coup de grace, hundió su espada de madera en el cuello del animal con tanta violencia, que le arrancó la cabeza y dejó al descubierto la cara sonriente del pequeño monsieur de Lorraina, hijo del embajador de Francia en Madrid.

Se despejó entonces el redondel entre grandes aplausos, y dos pajes moriscos, de librea negra y amarilla, con gran solemnidad, se llevaron arrastrando los caballos muertos, y después de breve interludio, durante el cual un acróbata francés bailó en la cuerda tensa, se representó, con títeres italianos, la tragedia semiclásica de Sofonisba, en el pequeño escenario construído al efecto. Trabajaban tan bien los títeres, y sus movimientos eran tan naturales, que al final del drama los ojos de la infanta estaban turbios de lágrimas. En realidad, algunos niños llegaron a llorar, y hubo que consolarlos con dulces, y el gran inquisidor se afectó tanto, que no pudo menos que decir a don Pedro que le parecía intolerable que muñecos hechos de madera y de cera coloreada y movidos mecánicamente por alambres, fueran tan desgraciados y sufrieran tan terribles infortunios.

Apareció después un prestidigitador africano, que trajo un gran cesto cubierto con un paño rojo y, colocándolo en el centro del redondel, sacó de su turbante una curiosa flauta de caña y sopló en ella. A poco el paño rojo comenzó a moverse y a medida que la flauta fue emitiendo sonidos más y más agudos, dos serpientes, verdes y doradas, fueron sacando sus cabezas de forma extraña y se irguieron poco a poco, balanceándose a un lado y a otro con la música, como se balancea una planta en las aguas. Los niños, sin embargo, se asustaron al ver las manchadas capuchas y las lenguas como flechas y les agradó mucho más ver que el prestidigitador hacía nacer de la arena un diminuto naranjo, que producía preciosos azahares blancos y racimos de verdaderos frutos, y cuando tomó en sus manos el abanico de la hija del marqués de las Torres y lo convirtió en un pájaro azul, que voló alrededor del pabellón y cantó, su deleite no tuvo límites.

El solemne minué, danzado por los niños bailarines de la iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar, fue encantador. La infanta nunca habla visto esta ceremonia, que se verifica anualmente durante el mes de mayo, ante el altar mayor de la Virgen y en honor suyo, y en realidad ningún miembro de la real familia de España había entrado a la catedral de Zaragoza desde que un cura loco, que muchos suponían pagado por Isabel de Inglaterra, había tratado de hacer tragar una hostia envenenada al príncipe de Asturias. Así, la infanta sólo de oídas conocía la Danza de Nuestra Señora, según se le llamaba, y era ciertamente digna de verse. Los niños llevaban trajes de corte arcaicos; sus sombreros de tres picos estaban ribeteados de plata y coronados por enormes penachos de plumas de avestruz, y la deslumbrante blancura de sus trajes, al moverse en el sol, se acentuaba por el contraste con sus caras morenas y sus largos cabellos negros. Todo el mundo quedó fascinado por la grave dignidad con que se movían en las intrincadas figuras de la danza y por la gracia estudiada de sus lentos ademanes y de sus majestuosos saludos, y cuando terminaron e hicieron reverencia con sus grandes sombreros a la infanta, ella respondió al homenaje con gran cortesía e hizo voto de enviar una gran vela de cera al santuario de la Virgen del Pilar, en pago del placer que le habían producido.

It was the birthday of the Infanta. She was just twelve years of age, and the sun was shining brightly in the gardens of the palace.

Although she was a real Princess and the Infanta of Spain, she had only one birthday every year, just like the children of quite poor people, so it was naturally a matter of great importance to the whole country that she should have a really line day for the occasion. And a really line day it certainly was. The tall striped tulips stood straight up upon their stalks, like long rows of soldiers, and looked defiantly across the grass at the roses, and said: We are quite as splendid as you are now. The purple butterflies fluttered about with gold dust on their wings, visiting each flower in turn; the little lizards crept out of the crevices of the wall, and lay basking in the white glare; and the pomegranates split and cracked with the heat, and showed their bleeding red hearts. Even the pale yellow lemons, that hung in such profusion from the mouldering trellis and along the dim arcades, seemed to have caught a richer colour from the wonderful sunlight, and the magnolia trees opened their great globe-like blossoms of folded ivory, and filled the air with a sweet heavy perfume.

The little Princess herself walked up and down the terrace with her companions, and played at hide and seek round the stone vases and the old moss-grown statues. On ordinary days she was only allowed to play with children of her own rank, so she had always to play alone, but her birthday was an exception, and the King had given orders that she was to invite any of her young friends whom she liked to come and amuse themselves with her. There was a stately grace about these slim Spanish children as they glided about, the boys with their large-plumed hats and short fluttering cloaks, the girls holding up the trains of their long brocaded gowns, and shielding the sun from their eyes with huge fans of black and silver. But the Infanta was the most graceful of all, and the most tastefully attired, after the somewhat cumbrous fashion of the day. Her robe was of grey satin, the skirt and the wide puffed sleeves heavily embroidered with silver, and the stiff corset studded with rows of fine pearls. Two tiny slippers with big pink rosettes peeped out beneath her dress as she walked. Pink and pearl was her great gauze fan, and in her hair, which like an aureole of faded gold stood out stiffly round her pale little face, she had a beautiful white rose.

From a window in the palace the sad melancholy King watched them. Behind him stood his brother, Don Pedro of Aragon, whom he hated, and his confessor, the Grand Inquisitor of Granada, sat by his side. Sadder even than usual was the King, for as he looked at the Infanta bowing with childish gravity to the assembling courtiers, or laughing behind her fan at the grim Duchess of Albuquerque who always accompanied her, he thought of the young Queen, her mother, who but a short time before - so it seemed to him - had come from the gay country of France, and had withered away in the sombre splendour of the Spanish court, dying just six months after the birth of her child, and before she had seen the almonds blossom twice in the orchard, or plucked the second year's fruit from the old gnarled fig-tree that stood in the centre of the now grass-grown courtyard. So great had been his love for her that he had not suffered even the grave to hide her from him. She had been embalmed by a Moorish physician, who in return for this service had been granted his life, which for heresy and suspicion of magical practices had been already forfeited, men said, to the Holy Office, and her body was still lying on its tapestried bier in the black marble chapel of the Palace, just as the monks had borne her in on that windy March day nearly twelve years before. Once every month the King, wrapped in a dark cloak and with a muffled lantern in his hand, went in and knelt by her side, calling out, 'Mi reina! Mi reina!' and sometimes breaking through the formal etiquette that in Spain governs every separate action of life, and sets limits even to the sorrow of a King, he would clutch at the pale jewelled hands in a wild agony of grief, and try to wake by his mad kisses the cold painted face.

To-day he seemed to see her again, as he had seen her first at the Castle of Fontainebleau, when he was but fifteen years of age, and she still younger. They had been formally betrothed on that occasion by the Papal Nuncio in the presence of the French King and all the Court, and he had returned to the Escurial bearing with him a little ringlet of yellow hair, and the memory of two childish lips bending down to kiss his hand as he stepped into his carriage. Later on had followed the marriage, hastily performed at Burgos, a small town on the frontier between the two countries, and the grand public entry into Madrid with the customary celebration of high mass at the Church of La Atocha, and a more than usually solemn auto-da-fe, in which nearly three hundred heretics, amongst whom were many Englishmen, had been delivered over to the secular arm to be burned.

Certainly he had loved her madly, and to the ruin, many thought, of his country, then at war with England for the possession of the empire of the New World. He had hardly ever permitted her to be out of his sight: for her, he had forgotten, or seemed to have forgotten, all grave affairs of State; and, with that terrible blindness that passion brings upon its servants, he had failed to notice that the elaborate ceremonies by which he sought to please her did but aggravate the strange malady from which she suffered. When she died he was, for a time, like one bereft of reason. Indeed, there is no doubt but that he would have formally abdicated and retired to the great Trappist monastery at Granada, of which he was already titular Prior, had he not been afraid to leave the little Infanta at the mercy of his brother, whose cruelty, even in Spain, was notorious, and who was suspected by many of having caused the Queen's death by means of a pair of poisoned gloves that he had presented to her on the occasion of her visiting his castle in Aragon. Even after the expiration of the three years of public mourning that he had ordained throughout his whole dominions by royal edict, he would never suffer his ministers to speak about any new alliance, and when the Emperor himself sent to him, and offered him the hand of the lovely Archduchess of Bohemia, his niece, in marriage, he bade the ambassadors tell their master that the King of Spain was already wedded to Sorrow, and that though she was but a barren bride he loved her better than Beauty; an answer that cost his crown the rich provinces of the Netherlands, which soon after, at the Emperor's instigation, revolted against him under the leadership of some fanatics of the Reformed Church.

His whole married life, with its fierce, fiery-coloured joys and the terrible agony of its sudden ending, seemed to come back to him to-day as he watched the Infanta playing on the terrace. She had all the Queen's pretty petulance of manner, the same wilful way of tossing her head, the same proud curved beautiful mouth, the same wonderful smile - vrai sourire de France indeed - as she glanced up now and then at the window, or stretched out her little hand for the stately Spanish gentlemen to kiss. But the shrill laughter of the children grated on his ears, and the bright pitiless sunlight mocked his sorrow, and a dull odour of strange spices, spices such as embalmers use, seemed to taint - or was it fancy? - the clear morning air. He buried his face in his hands, and when the Infanta looked up again the curtains had been drawn, and the King had retired.

She made a little moue of disappointment, and shrugged her shoulders. Surely he might have stayed with her on her birthday. What did the stupid State-affairs matter? Or had he gone to that gloomy chapel, where the candles were always burning, and where she was never allowed to enter? How silly of him, when the sun was shining so brightly, and everybody was so happy! Besides, he would miss the sham bull-fight for which the trumpet was already sounding, to say nothing of the puppet show and the other wonderful things. Her uncle and the Grand Inquisitor were much more sensible. They had come out on the terrace, and paid her nice compliments. So she tossed her pretty head, and taking Don Pedro by the hand, she walked slowly down the steps towards a long pavilion of purple silk that had been erected at the end of the garden, the other children following in strict order of precedence, those who had the longest names going first.

A procession of noble boys, fantastically dressed as toreadors, came out to meet her, and the young Count of Tierra-Nueva, a wonderfully handsome lad of about fourteen years of age, uncovering his head with all the grace of a born hidalgo and grandee of Spain, led her solemnly in to a little gilt and ivory chair that was placed on a raised da's above the arena. The children grouped themselves all round, fluttering their big fans and whispering to each other, and Don Pedro and the Grand Inquisitor stood laughing at the entrance. Even the Duchess - the Camerera-Mayor as she was called - a thin, hard-featured woman with a yellow ruff did not look quite so bad-tempered as usual, and something like a chill smile flitted across her wrinkled face and twitched her thin bloodless lips.

It certainly was a marvellous bullfight, and much nicer, the Infanta thought, than the real bull-fight that she had been brought to see at Seville, on the occasion of the visit of the Duke of Parma to her father. Some of the boys pranced about on richly-caparisoned hobby-horses brandishing long javelins with gay streamers of bright ribands attached to them; others went on foot waving their scarlet cloaks before the bull, and vaulting lightly over the barrier when he charged them; and as for the bull himself he was just like a live bull, though he was only made of wicker-work and stretched hide, and sometimes insisted on running round the arena on his hind legs, which no live bull ever dreams of doing. He made a splendid fight of it too, and the children got so excited that they stood up upon the benches, and waved their lace handkerchiefs and cried out: Bravo toro! Bravo toro! just as sensibly as if they had been grown-up people. At last, however, after a prolonged combat, during which several of the hobby-horses were gored through and through, and their riders dismounted, the young Count of Tierra-Nueva brought the bull to his knees, and having obtained permission from the Infanta to give the coup de grace, he plunged his wooden sword into the neck of the animal with such violence that the head came right off and disclosed the laughing face of little Monsieur de Lorraine, the son of the French Ambassador at Madrid.

The arena was then cleared amidst much applause, and the dead hobby-horses dragged solemnly away by two Moorish pages in yellow and black liveries, and after a short interlude, during which a French posture-master performed upon the tight rope, some Italian puppets appeared in the semi-classical tragedy of Sophonisba on the stage of a small theatre that had been built up for the purpose. They acted so well, and their gestures were so extremely natural, that at the close of the play the eyes of the Infanta were quite dim with tears. Indeed some of the children really cried, and had to be comforted with sweetmeats, and the Grand Inquisitor himself was so affected that he could not help saying to Don Pedro that it seemed to him intolerable that things made simply out of wood and coloured wax, and worked mechanically by wires, should be so unhappy and meet with such terrible misfortunes. 

An African juggler followed, who brought in a large flat basket covered with a red cloth, and having placed it in the centre of the arena, he took from his turban a curious reed pipe, and blew through it. In a few moments the cloth began to move, and as the pipe grew shriller and shriller two green and gold snakes put out their strange wedge-shaped heads and rose slowly up, swaying to and fro with the music as a plant sways in the water. The children, however, were rather frightened at their spotted hoods and quick darting tongues, and were much more pleased when the juggler made a tiny orange-tree grow out of the sand and bear pretty white blossoms and clusters of real fruit; and when he took the fan of the little daughter of the Marquess de Las-Torres, and changed it into a blue bird that flew all round the pavilion and sang, their delight and amazement knew no bounds. 

The solemn minuet, too, performed by the dancing boys from the church of Nuestra Senora Del Pilar, was charming. The Infanta had never before seen this wonderful ceremony which takes place every year at May-time in front of the high altar of the Virgin, and in her honour; and indeed none of the royal family of Spain had entered the great cathedral of Saragossa since a mad priest, supposed by many to have been in the pay of Elizabeth of England, had tried to administer a poisoned wafer to the Prince of the Asturias. So she had known only by hearsay of 'Our Lady's Dance,' as it was called, and it certainly was a beautiful sight. The boys wore old-fashioned court dresses of white velvet, and their curious three-cornered hats were fringed with silver and surmounted with huge plumes of ostrich feathers, the dazzling whiteness of their costumes, as they moved about in the sunlight, being still more accentuated by their swarthy faces and long black hair. Everybody was fascinated by the grave dignity with which they moved through the intricate figures of the dance, and by the elaborate grace of their slow gestures, and stately bows, and when they had finished their performance and doffed their great plumed hats to the Infanta, she acknowledged their reverence with much courtesy, and made a vow that she would send a large wax candle to the shrine of Our Lady of Pilar in return for the pleasure that she had given her.

A troop of handsome Egyptians - as the gipsies were termed in those days - then advanced into the arena, and sitting down cross-legs, in a circle, began to play softly upon their zithers, moving their bodies to the tune, and humming, almost below their breath, a low dreamy air. When they caught sight of Don Pedro they scowled at him, and some of them looked terrified, for only a few weeks before he had had two of their tribe hanged for sorcery in the marketplace at Seville, but the pretty Infanta charmed them as she leaned back peeping over her fan with her great blue eyes, and they felt sure that one so lovely as she was could never be cruel to anybody. So they played on very gently and just touching the cords of the zithers with their long pointed nails, and their heads began to nod as though they were falling asleep. Suddenly, with a cry so shrill that all the children were startled and Don Pedro's hand clutched at the agate pommel of his dagger, they leapt to their feet and whirled madly round the enclosure beating their tambourines, and chaunting some wild love-song in their strange guttural language. Then at another signal they all flung themselves again to the ground and lay there quite still, the dull strumming of the zithers being the only sound that broke the silence. After that they had done this several times, they disappeared for a moment and came back leading a brown shaggy bear by a chain, and carrying on their shoulders some little Barbary apes. The bear stood upon his head with the utmost gravity, and the wizened apes played all kinds of amusing tricks with two gipsy boys who seemed to be their masters, and fought with tiny swords, and tired off guns, and went t!trough a regular soldier's drill just like the King's own bodyguard. In fact the gipsies were a great success.