The Prince of the Peace had, against his custom, remained at Madrid during the Escurial season, that he might escape the imputation of promoting the unhappy divisions of the royal family. Something was rumoured at Madrid of a dismemberment of Portugal intended by Bonaparte, in consequence of which Godoy was to obtain an independent sovereignty. This report, originally whispered about by the friends of the latter, was completely hushed up in a few days; while, instead of the buoyancy of spirits which the prospect of a crown was likely to produce in the favourite, care and anxiety were observed to lurk in all his words and motions. He continued, however, holding his weekly levees; and as the French troops were pouring into the Spanish territory, endeavoured to conceal his alarm by an air of directing their movements. When, however, the French had taken almost violent possession of some of our fortresses, and were seen advancing to Madrid with Murat at their head, there was no farther room for dissimulation. Though I had no object at Godoy’s levees but the amusement of seeing a splendid assembly, open to every male or female who appeared in a decent dress; that idle curiosity happened to take me to the last he held at Madrid. He appeared, as usual, at the farthest end of a long saloon or gallery, surrounded by a numerous suite of officers, and advanced slowly between the company, who had made a way for him in the middle. Such as wished to speak to him took care to stand in front, while those who, like myself, were content to pay for their admission with a bow, kept purposely behind. Godoy stood now before the group, of which I formed one of the least visible figures, and bowing affably, as was his manner, said, in a loud voice, “Gentlemen, the French advance fast upon us; we must be upon our guard, for there is abundance of bad faith on their side.” It was now evident that Napoleon had cast off the mask under which he was hitherto acting; and such as heard this speech had no doubt that the arrival of Izquierdo, Godoy’s confidential agent at Paris, had at once undeceived him; filling him with shame and vexation at the gross artifice to which he had been a dupe.