“I speak not to you,” is Mary’s answer, her passion waxing hot. “I am here to address my son. Think you, sire, the Queen of France will hear unmoved that her sister’s life has been sacrificed to _her_? That the alliance on which you count, of Aragon and Navarre, will stand when the hosts of France, led by Du Guesclin, shall scour Castile? Already a new king has risen in Toledo who rests his title on this royal lady’s name whom this false woman would lead you to sacrifice. Restore to Blanche her rights, and the league against you will fall asunder.” “Madam,” answered Don Pedro, “I am the guardian of the crown I wear. Meanwhile, I warn you,” and he broke off to give one of those strange discordant laughs, “that, like my sainted father, your husband, beauty with me is paramount. She whom nature crowns is queen. Behold her here,” taking Maria by the hand. “I command you, therefore, Doña Maria, my mother, in my presence to treat the Lady Padilla with the respect her many charms command. To me she is the brightest jewel in my crown, and I will prove it, too, shortly to you and all the world.” As he paused, the queen’s countenance fell, and her whole attitude changed. Exposed to the full battery of Maria’s insolent eyes, it was _she_ who appeared the suppliant, and _Maria_ the queen. “My son,” she says, speaking in a very different tone to that she used on entering, “will you not grant me the same power of speech you accord to the least of your subjects?” “Have you any more to say, madam?” he asks, turning wearily from her. “If not, the audience is ended. When I stood in need of help in my fever and lay between life and death, you feared to enter.” “Oh, Pedro,” cries the unhappy mother, the tears streaming down her face, “believe it not. On my knees I entreated that fiend who rules you to let me pass, and she barred my access by the guards, whom she had the insolence to command to arrest the mother of their king! It was I, as self-appointed regent, that have kept the realm together when it was believed that you were dead! That you find any troops or treasure is due to _me_. “Ah! Pedro,” she continues, advancing to where he lay, and seizing one of his unwilling hands, “let us speak together alone. I would convince you that in sparing the life of Blanche you insure your own;” and she turns such an imploring glance at him, that it touches even his hard heart. “Will it please you, fair lady, to give place for a short space to the queen-mother?” says Don Pedro, addressing Maria, whose attitude has never changed. “Whatever your Grace commands shall be my duty to obey,” is her answer, the submission of her words contrasting strangely with the dark scowl which knits her brow. “Be it so, sweetheart. I have that to say touching yourself, which will surprise her. It were best said in your absence.” And rising feebly upright, he leads her by the hand into the inner _patio_, and lover-like kisses her hand.