After all things had been satisfactorily explained, they placed the body of Don Fabricio in a hearse, and bore it to Valencia. It was not, however, buried there, because, as the period of the vice-royalty of Don Francisco was nearly expired, that nobleman was preparing to return to Madrid, where he had resolved that his nephew should be interred. While the preparations for the funeral were making, the widow of Cifuentes was employed in loading Francisco and the renegade with the fruits of her gratitude. The Navarrese retired to his own province, and the surgeon returned with his mother to Barcelona, where he sought once more the bosom of the church, in which he lives to this day snugly enough. And now, when all was completed, Don Francisco received an express from the court, conveying the pardon of Don Juan, which the king, notwithstanding his consideration for the house of Naxera, had been unable to refuse to all the Mendozas who had united to ask the grace. This pardon was the more welcome to the Toledan, inasmuch as it gave him liberty to accompany the body of his friend to its last home, which he would not otherwise have dared to do. At last the sorrowful procession, attended by a numerous concourse of noble mourners, set out for Madrid; where it was no sooner arrived, than all that remained of Don Fabricio was deposited in yonder church, where Zarata and the Donna Theodora, with the permission of the Mendozas, erected a splendid monument to his memory. Nor did they bury their grief with their friend: they bore at least its outward sign for the unusual space of an entire year, that the world might know how deeply they deplored his loss. [Illustration: Zarata falls from his horse] After having exhibited such signal proofs of their affection for Mendoza, they married; but by an inconceivable effort of the force of friendship, Don Juan for a length of time still preserved a melancholy that not even love could banish. Don Fabricio, his dear Don Fabricio, was ever present in his thoughts by day; and, by night, he saw him in his dreams, and mostly as he had beheld him when the last sigh escaped him. His mind, however, began to be relieved from these saddening visions,--the charms of his beloved Theodora, which had ever possessed his soul, commenced their triumph over his baneful remembrances; in short, Don Juan once more touched upon happiness. But, a few days since, while hunting, he was thrown from his horse, fell upon his head, and fractured his skull. Physicians could not save him; he is just dead: and it is Theodora whom you see, in the arms of the two women, and who will probably soon follow him to the grave. CHAPTER XVI. THE DREAMERS.