already heard; when suddenly torches borne on high threw their glare
across the moonlit street, and two running footmen called out, "Make way
for the most noble the Marquis de Siete Iglesias!" At that name, Fonseca
dropped the point of his weapon; the alguazils themselves drew aside; and
the tall figure and pale countenance of Calderon were visible amongst the
group.

"What means this brawl in the open streets at this late hour?" said the
minister, sternly.

"Calderon!" exclaimed Fonseca; "this is indeed fortunate. These caitiffs
have dared to lay hands on a soldier of Spain, and to forge for their
villany the name of his own kinsman, the Duke de Lerma."

"Your charge against this gentleman?" asked Calderon, calmly, turning to
the principal alguazil, who placed the writ of arrest in the secretary's
hand. Calderon read it leisurely, and raised his hat as he returned it
to the alguazil: he then drew aside Fonseca.

"Are you mad?" said he, in a whisper. "Do you think you can resist the
law? Had I not arrived so opportunely you would have converted a slight
accusation into a capital offence. Go with these men: do not fear; I
will see the duke, and obtain your immediate release. To-morrow I will
visit and accompany you home."

Fonseca, still half beside himself with rage, would have replied, but
Calderon significantly placed his finger on his lip and turned to the
alguazils.

"There is a mistake here: it will be rectified to-morrow. Treat this