“Don’t be alarmed, senora,” said Costanza, “I will go and see what the senor corregidor wants, and if anything bad has happened, be assured the fault is not mine;” and without waiting to be called a second time, she took a lighted candle in a silver candlestick, and went into the room where the corregidor was.  As soon as he saw her, he bade the landlord shut the door, and then taking the candle out of her hand; and holding it near her face, he stood gazing at her from head to foot.  The blush which this called up into Costanza’s cheeks, made her look so beautiful and so modest that it seemed to the corregidor he beheld an angel descended on earth.  After a long scrutiny, “Landlord,” he said, “an inn is not fit setting for a jewel like this, and I now declare that my son Don Perequito has shown his good sense in fixing his affections so worthily.  I say, damsel, that they may well call you not only illustrious, but most illustrious:  but it should not be with the addition of scullery-maid, but with that of duchess.”

“She is no scullery-maid, senor,” said the host; “her only service in the house is to keep the keys of the plate, of which, by God’s bounty, I have some quantity for the service of the honourable guests who come to this inn.”

“Be that as it may, landlord,” returned the corregidor; “I say it is neither seemly nor proper that this damsel should live in an inn.  Is she a relation of yours?”

“She is neither my relation nor my servant; and if your worship would like to know who she is, your worship shall hear, when she is not present, things that will both please and surprise you.”

“I should like to know it.  Let Costanza retire, and be assured she may count on me in all things, as she would upon her own father; for her great modesty and beauty oblige all who see her to offer themselves for her service.”

Costanza replied not a word, but with great composure made a profound reverence to the corregidor.  On leaving the room she found her mistress waiting in great agitation.  She told her all that had passed, and how her master remained with the corregidor to tell some things, she knew not what, which he did not choose her to hear.  All this did not quite tranquilise the landlady, nor did she entirely recover her equanimity until the corregidor went away, and she saw her husband safe and free.  The latter meanwhile had told the corregidor the following tale:—­

“It is now, by my reckoning, senor, fifteen years, one month, and four days, since there came to this house a lady dressed in the habit of a pilgrim, and carried in a litter.  She was attended by four servant-men on horseback, and two duenas and a damsel who rode in a coach.  She had also two sumpter mules richly caparisoned, and carrying a fine bed and all the necessary implements for cooking.  In short, the whole equipage was first rate, and the pilgrim had all the appearance of being some great lady; and though she seemed to be about forty years of age, she