And at that word the royal confessor, who had come to interview them, grew suddenly ashen pale in the scant light of a covered morning, as if the granite of the court in which they stood had been reflected in his face. He made a low reverence and withdrew without a word. At last the two girls were at the door of the King's chamber--a closet rather than a room. Philip was seated at his desk, his gouty foot on the eternal leg-rest, a ghastly picture of St. Lawrence over his head, and a great crucifix in ivory and silver nailed upon the wall, just where the King's eyes would rest upon it each time he lifted his head. Claire took in the outward appearance of the mighty monarch who had been but a name to her up to this moment. He looked not at all like the "Demon of the South" of her imagination. A little fair man, in appearance all a Flamand of the very race he despised, a Flamand of the Flamands His blue eyes were already rheumy and filmed with age, and when he wished to see anything very clearly he had a trick of covering the right eye with his hand, thrusting his head forward, and peering short-sightedly with the other. His hair, though white, retained some of the saffron bloom which once had marked him in a crowd as the white _panache_ served the Bearnais. His beard, dirty white also, was straggling and tufted, as if in secret hours of sorrow it had been plucked out, Oriental fashion, by the roots. "My father," said Valentine la Niña, looking at him straight and fearlessly, "I have come to bid you a good morning. My uncle of Astorga would have come too, but he prays in his canon's stall in the cathedral of Leon for his near and dear 'parent,' your Majesty." The King rose slowly from his chair. His glabrous face showed no emotion. "Aid me, my daughter," he said, "I would look in your face." As he rose, his short-sighted eyes caught the dim silhouette of Claire standing behind. All a-tremble from head to foot, he stopped short in what he was about to say. "And who may that be?" he demanded, in the thick, half-articulate mumble which so many ambassadors found a difficulty in understanding. "A maid of Scotland, for whom I have come to ask a favour," answered Valentine la Niña. "Ah," said the King, as one who all his life had had knowledge of such requests. But without further question he took Valentine la Niña by the hand and led her to the window, so that the grey light, half-reflected from the clay-muddy sky, and half from the snowy courtyard, might strike directly upon her face. "Isabel Osorio's daughter--yes!" he said very low, "herself indeed!" "The lawful daughter of your lawful wife," said the girl, "also an obedient daughter. For I have done ever what you wished me--save only in one thing. And that--that--I am now ready to do, on one condition." "Ah," said the King again, pulling at his beard, "now aid me to sit down again, my daughter. We will talk."