The whole household were afoot early next morning and, while waiting for breakfast, Lady Mabel took the opportunity to survey the premises.  Cleanliness is not essential to Portuguese comfort; but, within the house, there was not the squalor and poverty which here usually characterises the peasant’s home.  Without, a small orchard, and one narrow field, a few goats, and two or three stout asses, seemed to comprise the farmer’s possessions.

On sitting down to an abundant breakfast, she expressed to L’Isle her wonder, how these people lived in such plenty, without flocks, or herds, or fields.

“You are mistaken,” said L’Isle.  “Our host has flocks so numerous, that it would startle you to hear their numbers told.  The whole country for miles around is pastured by them.  He is a farmer, or rather grazier, on a grand scale.  Not to puzzle you longer, he is a bee-farmer, having many hundred hives.  This land of flowers yields him two harvests a year.  His income is derived from wax and honey, and his rustic talk is not of bullocks, but of bees.  After breakfast, we will get him to show us something of the economic arrangements of his farm.”

During this meal, the two girls seemed anxious to make the most of their guests, who were so soon to leave them.  They had this morning put on their best clothes, and all their trinkets.  Their animated and inquisitive conversation, addressed chiefly to L’Isle as spokesman and interpreter, scarcely allowed him time to eat.  Their restless, sparkling black eyes, excited the admiration of the ladies.  “Do you think black eyes the most expressive?” said Lady Mabel to L’Isle; and, with a natural coquetry, she turned her own blue orbs full upon him.  How else could he judge, but by a comparison?

“There is a liquid lustre in the full black eye,” L’Isle answered, looking into those of the girl who was sitting, very sociably, close beside him, “which powerfully expresses languishing tenderness.  It is capable, too, of an angry and fierce expression.  But from its dark hues you cannot distinguish the pupil from the surrounding part, and lose all the varying beauty of its dilation and contraction.  There are eyes of lighter and more heavenly hues,” here he looked full in Lady Mabel’s, while describing them, “which have an unlimited range of expression, embracing every shade of feeling, every variety of sentiment.  They are tell-tale eyes, that would betray the owner in any attempt to play the hypocrite.”

Lady Mabel, laughing and blushing, expressed great doubts whether any eyes exercised that controlling guardianship over the integrity of their owner.