"None whatever. My carriage was a little scratched—the rascals recognised it, of course, for mine; a few straps of the harness were lost, and my silly, hot-headed, faithful fool of a Pedro has been laid by the heels for a while. That is all. Ah, would God, senor, that these wild Madrid mobs could always be as lightly turned from the mad purpose on which they are bent!" And as we shook hands his face was very dark with thought. I went with him to his carriage, not perhaps quite without a feeling of gratification to be seen on terms of friendship with the most powerful man in Spain; nor could I resist the strangely magnetic influence of his personality. I believed him to be one of the most dangerous and treacherous of men; and yet he had so wrought upon me in the course of a few minutes’ conversation, that I could not resist the temptation to believe that, whatever he might be to others, to me at least he was sincere in this desire for my friendship. Mayhew and I dined together, and, as my adventure was now common property and very generally discussed, our talk fell naturally upon Sebastian Quesada’s visit. "You’ll have to be careful you don’t get your head turned, Carbonnell," he said. "You’ll remember he’s a man who never does anything without a purpose." "What wise chaps they were of old, to have Death’s head always handy," I returned, with a laugh. "You’re prettier than a Death’s head, however, Silas." He was, in fact, a remarkably good-looking fellow. "Well, a skull has one point over us, after all—it can’t affect to hide its expression with any forced laughs. You can see the worst of it at any moment." "Which means?" "That A may not always be right, for instance, when he thinks that whatever B may be with other folk, he’s sincere with him." "You’ve hit it, by Jove, Silas. That’s exactly what I did think." "My dear fellow, it’s exactly what everybody thinks with Quesada. I sometimes think he’s a bit of a hypnotist. You know the trick. Old Madame Blavatsky, when she had a good subject in tow, could chuck a bit of cord on the floor and make him believe it was a snake. After all, it’s only diplomacy a little developed." "You think I’m a good subject, as you call it, then?" "We’re all more or less good subjects for Quesada; but I do mean that if you believe in him he’ll make you see snakes—aye, and feel the sting of ’em, too." "But I did get the girl out of a fix. Hang it, he can’t have any motive in my case." Mayhew laughed. "Hasn’t a girl ever given you a thing you didn’t want at the moment, and haven’t you wrapped it up very carefully and put it away somewhere, appreciating the act, and thinking it would be sure to come in handy some day? That’s Quesada’s policy; and I can think of plenty of things a devoted young friend on the staff of the Embassy here might be useful for." It wasn’t exactly a pleasant view to take of the incident, but I could not help seeing it might be a very true one.