“Yes,” returned Ferdinand, with a malicious smile, “you want to compromise me like that. Is it not so?” And he turned his back on the Minister and left him. Such was the open state of enmity between Godoy and Ferdinand in the royal palace, and the Prince’s hatred of the favourite was, if possible, equalled by that of the people. The King, who was nothing but a tool in his wife’s hands, joined his consort in overwhelming the man with honours, until he was finally given the post of High Admiral of Spain and the Indias, coupled with the title of Highness. The event was celebrated by all the united bands of Madrid, and, as Ferdinand had perforce to assist at the festivities with his parents, he whispered to his brother Carlos that he considered such honours as a personal insult to himself; “for,” he added, “this vassal of mine is usurping the love and enthusiasm of the people. I am nothing in the State, and he is omnipotent. My position is insufferable.” “Don’t trouble yourself,” returned the Infante. “The more they give, the sooner they will take it away.” The eyes of both father and son were now turned to Napoleon as the arbiter in their dissensions, and so Spain slipped gradually into the power of the great French commander. Certainly Ferdinand’s letter to the Emperor was frank, if it was not self-respecting. “I wish,” he said, “to confide in you as I would in a tender father. I am full of respect and filial love for my father,” he continued, “for his heart is good and generous, and, as Your Majesty knows, these very qualities are but instruments in the hands of astute and malignant people to keep him from the truth. I implore Your Majesty,” added the Spanish Prince, “not only to give me a Princess of your family as a wife, but to do away with all the difficulties which will accompany the matter.”