The royal arrival at Bayonne was announced by a salute of 101 guns, the garrison lined the streets, and Charles, on dismounting from his carriage, showed his pleasure at the reception vouchsafed to him by talking even to those he did not know. A shadow came over the King’s genial countenance when he saw Ferdinand standing with his brother at the foot of the staircase, and it was only the younger Prince who was given a cordial “Good-day” by the King, and who was embraced fondly by his mother. Although Ferdinand saw that he was ignored, he made a step forward to greet his parents. But Charles stopped, made a movement of indignation, and began mounting the stairs with a severe face. The Queen, however, who was behind, could not forget that she was a mother, and folded her treacherous son to her bosom. Then the Princes repaired to their apartments, and their parents hastened to greet the exile Godoy with tears of joy. The Emperor of the French lost no time in paying his respects to the royal travellers, but he did not ask them to dinner until the following day. As Charles’s rheumatism gave him some difficulty in mounting the stairs of the imperial abode, he gladly accepted Napoleon’s arm, saying: “I have not the strength that I had. It has been all knocked out of me.” “We will soon see about that,” returned the Emperor. “Lean on me, and I will find strength for both.” Thereupon the King stopped, and said emphatically: “So I believe, and I base all my hopes upon you.” On taking their seats at the table, Charles noticed the absence of Godoy, and he exclaimed with tender concern: “And Manuel? Where is Manuel?” So Napoleon, anxious to please his ally, sent for the Prince of the Peace, and the party was complete. At the meeting at which it was hoped Napoleon would bring the Royal Family to a satisfactory understanding there were very violent scenes. It was natural that the sight of their renegade son should revive all the bitterness of the King and Queen’s recent trials, but it was a pity that they did not restrain the passions which made them lose their royal dignity. The Emperor announced that Ferdinand would restore on the morrow to His Majesty the crown he had snatched from his father’s brow. This Ferdinand stoutly declared he would not do, and Maria Luisa, who had destroyed the proofs of her son’s guilt in the conspiracy of the Escorial, was now so mad with rage that, according to the report of Caballero, she cried to the Emperor to punish the crimes of her son by committing him to prison. Ferdinand was silent during the interview, but a few hours later he wrote to his father, maintaining that the abdication had been a _fait accompli_ and declaring that he would only give up the crown at the request of the Cortes and all the tribunals. To this letter the King replied: “MY SON,