By this time they reached the inn, where the conversation was prolonged in the same tone, half the night long.  After they had slept, as it seemed to them, little more than an hour, they were awakened by the loud sound of clarions in the street.  They sat up in bed, and after they had listened awhile, “I’ll lay a wager,” said Carriazo, “that it is already day, and that there is some feast or other in the convent of Nostra Senora del Carmen, in this neighbourhood, and that is why the clarions are pealing.”

“That can’t be,” said Avendano; “we have not been long asleep.  It must be some time yet till dawn.”

While they were talking, some one knocked at the door, and called out, “Young men, if you want to hear some fine music, go to the window of the next room, which looks on the street; it is not occupied.”

They got up and opened the door, but the person who had spoken was gone.  The music still continuing, however, they went in their shirts, just as they were, into the front room, where they found three or four other lodgers, who made place for them at the window; and soon afterwards an excellent voice sang a sonnet to the accompaniment of the harp.  There was no need of any one to tell Carriazo and Avendano that this music was intended for Costanza, for this was very clear from the words of the sonnet, which grated so horribly on Avendano’s ears, that he could have wished himself deaf rather than have heard it.  The pangs of jealousy laid hold on him, and the worst of all was, that he knew not who was his rival.  But this was soon made known to him when one of the persons at the window exclaimed, “What a simpleton is the corregidor’s son, to make a practice of serenading a scullery-maid.  It is true, she is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen, and I have seen a great many; but that is no reason why he should court her so publicly.”

“After all,” said another, “I have been told for certain that she makes no more account of him than if he never existed.  I warrant she is this moment fast asleep behind her mistress’s bed, without ever thinking of all this music.”

“I can well believe it,” said the first speaker, “for she is the most virtuous girl I know; and it is marvellous that though she lives in a house like this, where there is so much traffic, and where there are new comers every day, and though she goes about all the rooms, not the least thing in the world is known to her disparagement.”

Avendano began to breathe more freely after hearing this, and was able to listen to many fine things which were sung to the accompaniment of various instruments, all being addressed to Costanza, who, as the stranger said, was fast asleep all the while.