which, coupled with the almost servile homage of the arrogant favourite,
would have convinced the most superficial observer that he was born of
the highest rank. A second glance would have betrayed, in the full
Austrian lip--the high, but narrow forehead--the dark, voluptuous, but
crafty and sinister eye, the features of the descendant of Charles V. It
was the Infant of Spain that stood in the chamber of his ambitious
minion.

"This is convenient, this private entrance into thy penetralia, Roderigo.
It shelters me from the prying eyes of Uzeda, who ever seeks to cozen the
sire by spying on the Son. We will pay him off one of these days. He
loves you no less than he does his prince."

"I bear no malice to him for that, your highness. He covets the smiles
of the rising sun and rails at the humble object which, he thinks,
obstructs the beam."

"He might be easy on that score: I hate the man, and his cold
formalities. He is ever fancying that we princes are intent on the
affairs of state, and forgets that we are mortal and that youth is the
age for the bower, not the council. My precious Calderon, life would be
dull without thee: how I rejoice at thy return, thou best inventor of
pleasure that satiety ever prayed for! Nay, blush not: some men despise
thee for thy talents: I do thee homage. By my great grandsire's beard,
it will be a merry time at court when I am monarch, and thou minister!"

Calderon looked earnestly at the prince, but his scrutiny did not serve
to dispel a certain suspicion of the royal sincerity that ever and anon
came across the favourite's most sanguine dreams. With all Philip's
gaiety, there was something restrained and latent in his ambiguous smile,