had not put it under the pillow as usual, but between the mattresses, just under where he lay.  However, she was to tell the maestro, that if the ointment operated as he said, she could easily get the key as often as she pleased, and so there would be no need of copying it in wax.  Having delivered this message at once, the duena was to come back, and see how the ointment worked, for she intended to apply it forthwith.  The duena having reported all this to Loaysa, he sent away his friends who were waiting without for the mould of the key.

Trembling in every limb, and scarcely daring to breathe, Leonora began to rub the wrists of her jealous husband.  Next she smeared his nostrils; but as she did so, the old man jerked his head, and Leonora was petrified with terror, believing that he was awake, and had caught her in the fact.  It was a false alarm, however, and she went on with her task the best way she could, till she had completed it according to her instructions.  It was not long before its effects manifested themselves; for presently the old man began to snore loud enough to be heard in the street.  This was music more delightful to Leonora’s ears than the maestro’s voice or guitar; but still hardly trusting what she saw, she ventured to shake him, a very little at first, to see if he would wake; and then a wee bit more and more, till finding that he still snored on, she made bold to turn him over from one side to the other, without his showing any signs of waking.  Seeing this, she stepped joyfully to the door; and in a voice not so low as before, called out to the duena, who was waiting with her ear to the trap-hole.  “Good news, sister; Carrizales is sleeping more soundly than the dead.”

“What stops you then from taking the key, senora?” said the duena.  “The musico has been waiting for it this hour and more.”

“Stay a moment, sister; I am going for it,” said Leonora; and stepping back to the bed, she put her hand between the mattresses, and drew out the key without the old man’s perceiving it.  No sooner was the key in her hands, than dancing with delight she unlocked the door, and gave it to the exulting duena, bidding her let in the maestro, and bring him into the gallery; but as for herself, she durst not stir from that spot, for fear of what might happen.  But before all things she insisted that the maestro should ratify anew the oath he had taken not to do more than they should order him; and if he would not give this renewed pledge, he was not to be let in on any consideration.

“Never fear,” said the duena; “not a bit shall he come in until he has sworn, and sworn again, and kissed the cross at least six times.”

“Don’t bind him to any fixed number,” said Leonora; “but let him kiss the cross as many times as he pleases; but be sure that he swears by the life of his father, and by all he holds dear; for then we shall be safe and sure, and we may take our fill of hearing him sing and play; and exquisitely he does so, upon my word.  There now, get you gone without more delay, and let us not waste the night in words.”