enjoyed. I soon discovered that some of our intimate
friends were in the habit, instead of proceeding home to their beds after
supper, of visiting the Turkish baths. After enjoying the bath they would
sleep until the carriages arrived, and then, after partaking of chocolate
or coffee, as they desired, they would be driven off home to sleep again
until the time to appear at _dejeuner_ should arrive once more. And so
the days and nights passed, and enough for the day was the pleasure
thereof.

It was about this time that a reconciliation took place between King
Alfonso's mother, Queen Isabella, and Don Carlos, of a personal but not
official character. The proverb, "Blood is thicker than water," sometimes
comes true. The two were near relations. They had no personal quarrels.
Her own destiny was settled and Don Carlos's own efforts to wrest the
Crown from her son had ended in failure. Why, therefore, any need for
further enmity? I am reminded of a quaint conceit of Isabella's, which
amused not only her but also her friends. Isabella had grown to be a
woman of large proportions--in fact, of unmistakable proportions. One of
her favourite ladies-in-waiting was similarly endowed by nature, if not
more so. Isabella's hospitality was noted for its old magnificence. Her
entertainments were, one might say, superb. She delighted in masked
balls, and it was her pleasure to move in the crowd of guests, masked,
without being recognized. As her wish in this was made known to her
guests, the pleasing illusion was kept up till the hour for unmasking
arrived.

CHAPTER VII

MY FIRST ENGAGEMENT

I had been in Paris about three weeks when it came to the mind of Don
Carlos that he could arrange an excellent marriage for me. Any of my
readers who know how marriages are managed in France and Spain could not
be surprised that his liking for me personally prompted this kind
thought. Without my knowledge, but with the aid of my cousin's wife and
other feminine confederates, he had selected a charming girl, some
seventeen years of age, the only daughter of a rich financier, scion of
an old French family, whose wife was a Spaniard. During my visit I had
met her at times. She was as desirable a partner for life as any, prince
or peasant, could have wanted. Educated in one of the best convents in
Paris, she spoke English and Spanish equally as well as her own language.
She was tall, for a Frenchwoman, and her love for sport was equal to he