All the court, who are awaiting the arrival of the king, draw back respectfully to make way for him. The alguazils and _ballesteros_ salute him with reverence, and pages doff their plumed caps as he pauses for a moment under the effigies of the early kings of Castile and Leon ranged on either side, life size, mounted on mimic horses, armed, like their masters, in plates of steel. “_Ese, es el Conde de Ledesma_,” is buzzed about in whispers of approbation, the great man himself affecting not to notice the stir he makes, but fixing his eyes on a group near the door, who take no notice of him. That they are persons of distinction is evident from the badges they wear and the large attendance of pages and esquires and _jefes_. As the count passes, he draws himself up and casts on them a supercilious glance of defiance, at once returned with smiles of scorn and derision. “Here comes that wretch,” the tallest of them is saying, no other than Don Pedro Giron, Grand Master of Calatrava. “Vile parasite!” exclaims another. “Hush! hush! my Lord of Benevente,” says a third; “keep silence, I pray you, until the right moment comes.” “The unmannerly cur!” mutters the Lord of Benevente, as Ledesma disappears into the presence chamber. “He never saluted us. Are we, the greatest _ricoshombres_ of Spain, absolute in our freedom, and with the right of life and death, to be insulted by such an upstart? If the queen can spare him [at this there is a general laugh], he will doubtless take command in the crusade against the Moors, and be packed off with a bevy of mistresses and mummers to amuse the king. Castile has fallen under the rule of favourites with a vengeance! The Conde de Luna was a _hidalgo_, but this fellow is a low impostor.” “A vile shame!” exclaims another Marqués de Villena, who, with his uncle Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo, is again to be found conspiring in this court as in that of “El Enfermo.” “Presently it will be our turn,” says the Conde de Palencia. “Don Enrique is unworthy, and the queen--well, I do not wish to use foul language, but there is only one word to designate _her_. We are all agreed as to the birth of the Beltraneja, your graces.” The other two bow, and he continues: “A worn-out voluptuary and eight years of sterility require faith in a miracle in favour of our noble king which he does not inspire. She was christened by the public, as soon as she was born, ‘Beltraneja,’ after her real father. Don Enrique insists on her succession, to exclude his brother and sister. Why this imposture has been tolerated so long I cannot understand.”