His cheeks, too, had now flushed. What life was still pulsing in the
veins of this woman, already past her youth! with what impressive power
she understood how to describe what moved her! Yet how mistaken was the
view to which maternal love and the desire of her heart had led her
artist nature! She had seen only the light, not the shadow, the
darkness, the gloom, which had clouded his course of fame.

To secure splendour and grandeur for him, she had yielded to the most
cruel demand, and what had been the result of this sacrifice? What had
she gained by it?

How had the happiness in which she fancied she saw him revelling been
constituted?

The power of the newly awakened experiences bore him away also, and he
described no less vividly what he had suffered.

Yes, indeed! He had not lacked great successes, far-reaching renown,
high honours, and some degree of glory. But what a tale he--not yet
thirty--now related! He, the son of an Emperor, the brother of a
powerful King, who was adorned by as many crowns as there were fingers on
his hand!

He had been King Philip's servant and useful commander in chief, nothing
more.

And now he described the sovereign's cold nature, unfeeling calculation,
and offensive suspicion. He, Don John, the not all unworthy son of the
great Emperor Charles, was not born to obey all his life, and allow