At last they went in doors, and la Argueello, the chamber maid, a woman of some five-and-forty years of age, showed them a room which was neither a gentleman’s nor a servant’s, but something between the two.  On their asking for supper, la Argueello told them they did not provide meals in that inn; they only cooked and served up such food as the guests bought and fetched for themselves; but there were eating-houses in the neighbourhood, where they might without scruple of conscience go and sup as they pleased.  The two friends took la Argueello’s advice, and went to an eating-house, where Carriazo supped on what they set before him, and Avendano on what he had brought with him, to wit, thoughts and fancies.  Carriazo noticed that his friend ate little or nothing, and, by way of sounding him, he said on their way back to the inn, “We must be up betimes to-morrow morning, so that we may reach Orgez before the heat of the day.”

“I am not disposed for that,” replied Avendano, “for I intend, before I leave this city, to see all that is worth seeing in it, such as the cathedral, the waterworks of Juanelo, the view from the top of St. Augustine’s, the King’s garden, and the promenade by the river.”

“Very well, we can see all that in two days.”

“What need of such haste?  We are not posting to Rome to ask for a vacant benefice.”

“Ha! ha! friend, I see how it is, I’ll be hanged if you are not more inclined to stay in Toledo than to continue our journey.”

“That’s true, I confess; it is as impossible for me to forego the sight of that girl’s face, as it is to get into heaven without good works.”

“Gallantly spoken, and as becomes a generous breast like yours!  Here’s a pretty story!  Don Tomas de Avendano, son of the wealthy and noble cavalier, Don Juan de Avendano, over head and ears in love with the scullery-maid at the Posada del Sevillano!”

“It strikes me, I may answer you in the same strain.  Here’s Don Diego de Carriazo, son and sole heir of the noble knight of Alcantara of the same name, a youth finely gifted alike in body and mind, and behold him in love—­with whom, do you suppose?  With queen Ginevra?  No such thing, but with the tunny fisheries of Zahara, and all its rogues and rascals,—­a more loathsome crew, I suspect, than ever beset St. Anthony in his temptations.”

“You have given me tit for tat, friend, and slain me with my own weapon.  Let us say no more now, but go to bed, and to-morrow who knows but we come to our senses?”

“Look ye, Carriazo, you have not yet seen Costanza; when you have seen her, I will give you leave to say what you like to me.”

“Well, I know beforehand what will be the upshot of the matter.”

“And that is?”

“That I shall be off to my tunny fisheries, and you will remain with your scullery-maid.”

“I shall not be so happy.”

“Nor I such a fool as to give up my own good purpose for the sake of your bad one.”