own residence.  They were permitted to drink their wine without water, and to make a feast when and where they pleased, without first demanding permission of their principal.  They were, furthermore, to enter at once on a full share of whatever was brought in by the superior brethren, as one of themselves—­with many other privileges, which the new comers accepted as most signal favours, and on the possession of which they were felicitated by all present, in the most polite and complimentary terms.

While these pleasing ceremonies were in course of being exchanged, a boy ran in, panting for breath, and cried out, “The Alguazil of the vagabonds is coming direct to the house, but he has none of the Marshalsea men with him.”

“Let no one disturb himself,” said Monipodio.  “This is a friend; never does he come here for our injury.  Calm your anxiety, and I will go out to speak with him.”  At these words all resumed their self-possession, for they had been considerably alarmed; and Monipodio went forth to the door of his house, where he found the Alguazil, with whom he remained some minutes in conversation, and then returned to the company.  “Who was on guard to-day,” he asked, “in the market of San Salvador?” “I was,” replied the conductor of our two friends, the estimable Ganchuelo.  “You!” replied Monipodio.  “How then does it happen that you have not given notice of an amber-coloured purse which has gone astray there this morning, and has carried with it fifteen crowns in gold, two double reals, and I know not how many quartos?”

“It is true,” replied Ganchuelo, “that this purse has disappeared, but it was not I took it, nor can I imagine who has done so.”  “Let there be no tricks with me,” exclaimed Monipodio; “the purse must be found, since the Alguazil demands it, and he is a friend who finds means to do us a thousand services in the course of the year.”  The youth again swore that he knew nothing about it, while Monipodio’s choler began to rise, and in a moment flames seemed to dart from his eyes.  “Let none of you dare,” he shouted, “to venture on infringing the most important rule of our order, for he who does so shall pay for it with his life.  Let the purse be found, and if any one has been concealing it to avoid paying the dues, let him now give it up.  I will make good to him all that he would have been entitled to, and out of my own pocket too; for, come what may, the Alguazil must not be suffered to depart without satisfaction.”  But Ganchuelo could do no more than repeat, with all manner of oaths and imprecations, that he had neither taken the purse, nor ever set eyes on it.

All this did but lay fuel on the flame of Monipodio’s anger, and the entire assembly partook of his emotions; the honourable members perceiving that their statutes were violated, and their wise ordinances infringed.  Seeing, therefore, that the confusion and alarm had now got to such a height, Rinconete began to think it time to allay it, and to calm the anger of his superior, who was bursting with rage.  He took counsel for a moment with Cortadillo, and receiving his assent, drew forth the purse of the Sacristan, saying:—­