Like many an old soldier Mendoza had some little skill, but he saw the bright spot on the white doublet, and the still face and the hands relaxed, and there was neither breath nor beating of the heart to give hope.

He rose silently, and shook his head.

Still looking down he saw the red drops that had fallen upon the pavement from Philip's rapier, and looking at that, saw that the point was dark.

With a gesture of excuse he took the sword from the King's hand and wiped it quite dry and bright upon his own handkerchief, and gave it back to Philip, who sheathed it by his side, but never spoke.
Together the two looked at the body for a full minute and more, each silently debating what should be done with it.

At last Mendoza raised his head, and there was a strange look in his old eyes and a sort of wan greatness came over his war-worn face.