lived in a perfect labyrinth of plot and counter-plot. The spirit of
finesse, manoeuvre, subtlety, and double-dealing pervaded every family.
Not a house that was not divided against itself.

As Lerma turned his eyes from the unwelcome spectacle of such sudden
familiarity between Uzeda and the heir-apparent--a familiarity which it
had been his chief care to guard against--his glance fell on Calderon.
He beckoned to him in silence, and retired, unobserved by the two
confabulators, through the same door by which he had entered. Calderon
took the hint, and followed him. The duke entered a small room, and
carefully closed the door.

"How is this, Calderon?" he asked, but in a timid tone, for the weak old
man stood in awe of his favourite. "Whence this new and most ill-boding
league?"

"I know not, your eminence; remember that I am but just returned to
Madrid: it amazes me no less than it does your eminence."

"Learn the cause of it, my good Calderon: the prince ever professed to
hate Uzeda. Restore him to those feelings thou art all in all with his
highness! If Uzeda once gain his ear, thou art lost."

"Not so," cried Calderon, proudly. "My service is to the king; I have a
right to his royal protection, for I have a claim on his royal
gratitude."

"Do not deceive thyself," said the duke, in a whisper. "The king cannot
live long: I have it from the best authority, his physician; nor is this
all--a formidable conspiracy against thee exists at court. But for