"Bless thee in thy sweet mother's name!" While he spoke, the eyes of Beatriz caught the form of Philip, who stood by, leaning on his sword; his face working with various passions, and his lip curling with stern and intense disdain.

Accustomed to know human life but in its worst shapes, and Calderon only by his vices and his arts, the voice of nature uttered no language intelligible to the prince.

He regarded the whole as some well got-up device--some trick of the stage; and waited, with impatience and scorn, the denouement of the imposture.
At the sight of that mocking face, Beatriz shuddered, and fell back; but her very alarm revived her, and, starting to her feet, she exclaimed, "Save me from that bad man--save me! My father, I am safe with thee!" "Safe!" echoed Calderon;--"ay, safe against the world.

But not," he added, looking round, and in a low and muttered tone, "not in this foul abode; its very air pollutes thee.

Let us hence: come--come--my daughter!" and winding his arm round her waist, he hurried her towards the door.
"Back, traitor!" cried Philip, placing himself full in the path of the distracted and half delirious father, "Back! thinkest thou that I, thy master and thy prince, am to be thus duped and thus insulted?
Not for thine own pleasures hast thou snatched her whom I have honoured with my love from the sanctuary of the Church.