Philip could not look away from her.
But suddenly there was a stir among the courtiers, and a shadow came between the King and the vision he was watching.

He started a little, annoyed by the interruption and at being rudely reminded of what had happened half an hour earlier, for the shadow was cast by Mendoza, tall and grim in his armour, his face as grey as his grey beard, and his eyes hard and fixed.

Without bending, like a soldier on parade, he stood there, waiting by force of habit until Philip should speak to him.

The King's brows bent together, and he almost unconsciously raised one hand to signify that the music should cease.

It stopped in the midst of a bar, leaving the dancers at a standstill in their measure, and all the moving sea of light and colour and gleaming jewels was arrested instantly in its motion, while every look was turned towards the King.
The change from sound to silence, from motion to immobility, was so sudden that every one was startled, as if some frightful accident had happened, or as if an earthquake had shaken the Alcazar to its deep foundation.
Mendoza's harsh voice spoke out alone in accents that were heard to the end of the hall.
"Don John of Austria is dead! I, Mendoza, have killed him unarmed." It was long before a sound was heard, before any man or woman in the hall had breath to utter a word.