“I have heard for all that,” said Preciosa, “that she is exceedingly poor; something of a beggar in short.”

“It is rather the reverse,” said the page, “for there is no poet who is not rich, since they all live content with their condition; and that is a piece of philosophy which few understand.  But what has moved you, Preciosa, to make this inquiry?”

“I was moved to it, because, as I believe all poets, or most of them, to be poor, that crown which you gave me wrapped up with the verses caused me some surprise; but now that I know that you are not a poet, but only a lover of poetry, it may be that you are rich, though I doubt it, for your propensity is likely to make you run through all you have got.  It is a well-known saying, that no poet can either keep or make a fortune.”

“But the saying is not applicable to me,” said the page.  “I make verses, and I am neither rich nor poor; and without feeling it or making a talk about it, as the Genoese do of their invitations, I can afford to give a crown, or even two, to whom I like.  Take then, precious pearl, this second paper, and this second crown enclosed in it, without troubling yourself with the question whether I am a poet or not.  I only beg you to think and believe that he who gives you this would fain have the wealth of Midas to bestow upon you.”

Preciosa took the paper, and feeling a crown within it, she said, “This paper bids fair to live long, for it has two souls within it, that of the crown and that of the verses, which, of course, are full of souls and hearts as usual.  But please to understand, Senor Page, that I do not want so many souls; and that unless you take back one of them, I will not receive the other on any account.  I like you as a poet and not as a giver of gifts; and thus we may be the longer friends, for your stock of crowns may run out sooner than your verses.”

“Well,” said the page, “since you will have it that I am poor, do not reject the soul I present to you in this paper, and give me back the crown, which, since it has been touched by your hand, shall remain with me as a hallowed relic as long as I live.”

Preciosa gave him the crown, and kept the paper, but would not read it in the street.  The page went away exulting in the belief that Preciosa’s heart was touched, since she had treated him with such affability.

It being now her object to find the house of Andrew’s father, she went straight to the street, which she well knew, without stopping anywhere to dance.  About half way down it, she saw the gilded iron balcony which Andrew had mentioned to her, and in it a gentleman of about fifty years of age, of noble presence, with a red cross on his breast.  This gentleman seeing the gitanilla, called out, “Come up here, ninas, and we will give you something.”  These words brought three other gentlemen to the balcony, among whom was the enamoured Andrew.  The instant he cast his eyes on Preciosa he changed colour, and well nigh swooned, such was the effect her sudden appearance had upon him.  The girls went up stairs, whilst the old woman remained below to pump the servants with respect to Andrew.  As they entered the room, the elder gentleman was saying to the others, “This is no doubt the handsome gitanilla who is so much talked of in Madrid.”