“How now?” says she, seating herself on a ponderous chair, heavy with carving, as the others rise and make low obeisance, her dueña, in a stiff starched black robe and high head-dress, standing behind her. “Your talk is of horses and of hawks, when such serious matter presses in the Cortes? Have you no better entertainment,” turning to her son, “for the Conde when Almanzor reigns at Cordoba, and harries us with his troops? Hakim, the book-worm, was an easy man, and spent his time in buying rare manuscripts and parchments; but this one is a fire-brand, and his generals, Ghalid and the Prince of Zab, take from us much booty and many towns. If God aid us not, we shall again become tributaries to the Moors.” “Doña Teresa the Queen,” answers the Conde, bowing with the lofty courtesy natural to him, in reply to this somewhat rude and boisterous speech, “you cannot address one more of your own mind than myself. If Don Sancho and I discoursed on lighter matters, it is not that I am unmindful of the growing power of the infidels. For this cause I am come to the Cortes. By Santiago, do I not know that your royal brother, the King of Navarre, was lately brought to his knees by this same swarthy Almanzor, whom the devil blast! because one Moslem woman was harboured in his land?” “Truly I have cause to remember it,” is her answer, and an evil twinkle came into her eyes. “What say you, Conde, to a closer alliance among the Christians with Navarre, a marriage for instance, as a tighter bond? The Gothic nations can only hope to drive back our enemy by standing by each other. King Garcia has a daughter, very fair, and of singular courage and accomplishments. What say you, whom Nature has formed at all points to please a lady’s eye”--(at this compliment the Conde again bows low, and kisses the queen’s hand)--“to an alliance which will bind together the powers of Leon, Navarre, and Castile?” In the king’s face, turned somewhat aside, first came a look of blank astonishment, succeeded by a smile so malignant that had Castila seen it he would certainly not have consented. “By my faith,” are the king’s words, suddenly assuming an aspect of the most intense interest, “a very excellent proposal. Refuse it not, my lord. Men say in Leon that I rule, but that Queen Doña Teresa holds the reins of state. Who better? Follow my example. Her judgment is excellent.” But the Conde saw not the matter in that simple light. With much misgiving he had come to Leon. Hostile to him, he knew, was the queen, and Don Sancho was ruled by her. “You hesitate,” exclaims Doña Teresa, her visage forming into a dark frown; “better not to give good counsel than to have it cast in one’s teeth.” “Nay, Doña the Queen, I did but consider your words. The matter is too important to be accepted offhand.” “You bestow your own hand, I suppose, yourself?” she asks with a sneer. Again the Conde bowed.