“Then Ramirez Arellano advanced like a fury towards the King, and cried to me in a loud voice, most unfitting for the presence of a King: ‘Here, here, we want no more preambles and sophisms! On this table are pens and paper, and here you must put down the names of all the conspirators. No circumlocution or subterfuges. The King is at the head of his kingdoms, and nothing under the sun ought to be hidden from him. I have read Barruel, Señor; I have been in France, and I know what these Freemasonry secrets are. Where, where are the solemn oaths made to your religion and your King?’ “During all this storm I kept my eyes on the monarch’s face, which seemed turned to stone from the moment Arellano joined in the conversation. Disregarding the miserable man as much as I could, I turned to the King, and said: “‘Señor, I know nobody.’ “Then Ramirez said: ‘Señor, the tribunal, the tribunal will make him vomit.’ “Then the King, turning away from Ramirez, said in a tone of vexation: “‘It is impossible that you know nothing about it; your silence is criminal.’ “‘Señor,’ I returned, ‘if I were hiding a crime I should shun your royal presence, and if I had committed a sin I should profit by the opportunity of being in the royal presence, to ask pardon.’ “The King stood looking at me thoughtfully for some time, and then said: “‘Put down in writing all that you have to tell me.’ “After a slight pause he took one of the cigars from the table, lighted it, and began smoking. “‘Do you smoke?’ he said. “And when my answer was in the affirmative, he said to Arellano: ‘Give him some cigars.’ “This act was followed by a sign for me to leave, and when I kissed His Majesty’s hand he pressed mine with a certain touch of feeling, but, on turning to make my bow at the door, I heard him say to Arellano: ‘What a pity--such young man!’” Thus, the attempt to give the King some idea of the matter did not succeed, as the Freemason was not allowed to make any verbal explanation, and to have followed the royal suggestion of putting in writing any information about the society would have been to put one’s neck into the noose. According to Van Halem’s own story, he subsequently escaped from prison through the help of a maid-servant. It was on the evening of December 26, 1818, that sweet Isabel died, and Ferdinand again found himself a widower. The news was a great shock to the whole country. Mesoneros Romanos relates that he was at a large municipal evening party, when the Mayor entered in his official garb, and said in a solemn voice: “Señores, this festivity must cease. The Queen our lady” (and he reverently doffed his hat) “has just expired after being delivered of an infant, which has also died.” Dismay filled the assembly, and it was with sad hearts that the company repaired to their homes, for not only had they lost their lovable young Queen, but the death of her infant had also destroyed their hopes of an heir to the throne.[12]