They marched in time, with heavy tread and the swinging gait to right and left that is natural to a soldier who carries for a weapon a long halberd with a very heavy head.  Mendoza was as tall as any of them, and kept their step, holding his head high.  He was bareheaded, but was otherwise still in the complete uniform he wore when on duty on state occasions.

The corridor, which seemed short on account of its breadth and in comparison with the great size of the halls in the palace, was some thirty paces long and lighted by a number of chandeliers that hung from the painted vault.  The party reached the door of the waiting room and halted a moment, while one of the King’s footmen opened the doors wide.  Don Ruy Gomez and Dolores were waiting within.  The servant passed rapidly through to open the doors beyond.  Ruy Gomez stood up and drew his chair aside, somewhat surprised at the entrance of the soldiers, who rarely passed that way.  Dolores opened her eyes at the sound of marching, but in the uncertain light of the candles she did not at first see Mendoza, half hidden as he was by the men who guarded him.  She paid little attention, for she was accustomed to seeing such detachments of halberdiers marching through the corridors when the sentries were relieved, and as she had never been in the King’s apartments she was not surprised by the sudden appearance of the soldiers, as her companion was.  But as the latter made way for them he lifted his hat, which as a Grandee he wore even in the King’s presence, and he bent his head courteously as Mendoza went by.  He hoped that Dolores would not see her father, but his own recognition of the prisoner had attracted her attention.  She sprang to her feet with a cry.  Mendoza turned his head and saw her before she could reach him, for she was moving forward.  He stood still, and the soldiers halted instinctively and parted before her, for they all knew their commander’s daughter.

“Father!” she cried, and she tried to take his hand.

But he pushed her away and turned his face resolutely towards the door before him.

“Close up!  Forward—­march!” he said, in his harsh tone of command.

The men obeyed, gently forcing Dolores aside.  They made two steps forward, but Ruy Gomez stopped them by a gesture, standing in their way and raising one hand, while he laid the other on the young lieutenant’s shoulder.  Ruy Gomez was one of the greatest personages in Spain; he was the majorduomo of the palace, and had almost unlimited authority.  But the officer had his orders directly from the King and felt bound to carry them out to the letter.

“His Majesty has directed me to convey Don Diego de Mendoza to the west tower without delay,” he said.  “I beg your Excellency to let us proceed.”

Ruy Gomez still held him by the shoulder with a gentle pressure.

“That I will not,” he said firmly; “and if you are blamed for being slow in the execution of your duty, say that Ruy Gomez de Silva hindered you, and fear nothing.  It is not right that father and daughter should part as these two are parting.”