and they all agreed that he should go to work, for in such an enterprise no one lacks counsellors to aid and abet him.  At first they were at a loss how to set about so difficult an exploit; but after many consultations they agreed upon the following plan:—­Loaysa (so the virote was named) disappeared from among his friends, giving out that he was leaving Seville for some time.  Then drawing on a pair of linen drawers and a clean shirt, he put over them a suit of clothes so torn and patched, that the poorest beggar in the city would have disdained to wear such rags.  He shaved off the little beard he had, covered one of his eyes with a plaster, tied up one of his legs, and hobbling along on two crutches, appeared so completely metamorphosed into a lame beggar, that no real cripple could have looked less of a counterfeit than he.

[80] “Men on town,” gente de barrio, literally, people of the ward or quarter.

In this guise he posted himself closely at the hour of evening prayer before the door of Carrizales’ house, which was fast shut, and Luis the negro locked up between the two doors.  Having taken up his position there, Loaysa produced a greasy guitar, wanting some of its strings, and as he was something of a musician, he began to play a few lovely airs, and to sing Moorish ballads in a feigned voice, with so much expression that all who were passing through the street stopped to listen.  The boys all made a ring round him when he sang, and Luis the negro, enchanted by the virote’s music, would have given one of his hands to be able to open the door, and listen to him more at his ease, such is the fondness for music inherent in the negro race.  When Loaysa wanted to get rid of his audience, he had only to cease singing, put up his guitar, and hobble away on his crutches.

Loaysa four or five times repeated this serenade to the negro, for whose sake alone he played and sang, thinking that the way to succeed in his sap and siege was to begin by making sure of old Luis; nor was his expectation disappointed.  One night when he had taken his place as usual before the door, and had begun to time his guitar, perceiving that the negro was already on the alert, he put his lips to the key-hole and whispered, “Can you give me a drop of water, Luis?  I am dying with thirst, and can’t sing.”

“No,” said the negro, “for I have not the key of this door, and there is no hole through which I can give you drink.”

“Who keeps the key, then?”

“My master, who is the most jealous man in the world; and if he knew that I was now talking here with any one, it were pity of my life.  But who are you who ask me for water?”

“I am a poor cripple, who get my bread by asking alms of all good people in God’s name; besides which I teach the guitar to some moriscoes, and other poor people.  Among my pupils I have three negroes, slaves to three aldermen, whom I have taught so well that they are fit to sing and play at dance or in any tavern, and they have paid me for it very well indeed.”