Repeating the dialogue between the muleteers, and mimicking their tones and gestures, served as pastime to beguile the way until they reached Toledo.  Carriazo, who had been there before, led the way at once to the Posada del Sevillano; but they did not venture to ask for accommodation there, their dress and appearance not being such as would have gained them a ready welcome.  Night was coming on, and though Carriazo importuned Avendano to go with him in search of lodgings elsewhere, he could not prevail on him to quit the doors of the Sevillano, or cease from hanging about them, upon the chance that the celebrated scullery-maid might perhaps make her appearance.  When it was pitch dark Carriazo was in despair, but still Avendano stuck to the spot; and, at last, he went into the courtyard of the inn, under pretence of inquiring after some gentlemen of Burgos who were on their way to Seville.  He had but just entered the courtyard, when a girl, who seemed to be about fifteen, and was dressed in working clothes, came out of one of the side doors with a lighted candle.  Avendano’s eyes did not rest on the girl’s dress, but on her face, which seemed to him such as a painter would give to the angels; and so overcome was he by her beauty, that he could only gaze at it in speechless admiration, without being able to say one word for himself.

“What may you please to want, brother?” said the girl.  “Are you servant to one of the gentlemen in the house?”

“I am no one’s servant but yours,” replied Avendano, trembling with emotion.

“Go to, brother,” returned the girl disdainfully, “we who are servants ourselves have no need of others to wait on us;” and calling her master, she said, “Please to see, sir, what this lad wants.”

The master came out, and, in reply to his question, Avendano said that he was looking for some gentlemen of Burgos who were on their way to Seville.  One of them was his master, and had sent him on before them to Alcala de Henares upon business of importance, bidding him, when that was done, to proceed to Toledo, and wait for him at the Sevillano; and he believed that his master would arrive there that night or the following day at farthest.

So plausibly did Avendano tell this fib that the landlord was quite taken in by it.  “Very well, friend,” said he, “you may stop here till your master comes.”

“Many thanks, senor landlord,” replied Avendano; “and will your worship bid them give me a room for myself, and a comrade of mine who is outside?  We have got money to pay for it, as well as another.”

“Certainly,” said the host, and turning to the girl he said, “Costanza, bid la Argueello take these two gallants to the corner room, and give them clean sheets.”

“I will do so, senor,” and curtsying to her master she went away, leaving Avendano by her departure in a state of feeling like that of the tired wayfarer when the sun sets and he finds himself wrapt in cheerless darkness.  He went, however, to give an account of what he had seen and done to Carriazo, who very soon perceived that his friend had been smitten in the heart; but he would not say a word about the matter then, until he should see whether there was a fair excuse for the hyperbolical praises with which Avendano exalted the beauty of Costanza above the stars.