“Three words!  Don Jorge; and what may not be made out of three words?  You have lived amongst us to little purpose if you think we require more than three words to build a system with:  those three words about the thieves and their tongue were quite sufficient to cause it to be reported throughout Madrid that you had tampered with the thieves, had learnt their language, and had written a book which was to overturn Spain, open to the English the gates of Cadiz, give Mendizabal all the church plate and jewels, and to Don Martin Luther the archiepiscopal palace of Toledo.”

Late in the afternoon of a rather gloomy day, as I was sitting in the apartment which the alcayde had allotted me, I heard a rap at the door.  “Who is that?” I exclaimed.  “C’est moi, mon maitre,” cried a well-known voice, and presently in walked Antonio Buchini, dressed in the same style as when I first introduced him to the reader, namely, in a handsome but rather faded French surtout, vest and pantaloons, with a diminutive hat in one hand, and holding in the other a long and slender cane.

“Bon jour, mon maitre,” said the Greek; then glancing around the apartment, he continued, “I am glad to find you so well lodged.  If I remember right, mon maitre, we have slept in worse places during our wanderings in Galicia and Castile.”

“You are quite right, Antonio,” I replied; “I am very comfortable.  Well, this is kind of you to visit your ancient master, more especially now he is in the toils; I hope, however, that by so doing you will not offend your present employer.  His dinner hour must be at hand; why are not you in the kitchen?”

“Of what employer are you speaking, mon maitre?” demanded Antonio.

“Of whom should I speak but Count -, to serve whom you abandoned me, being tempted by an offer of a monthly salary less by four dollars than that which I was giving you.”

“Your worship brings an affair to my remembrance which I had long since forgotten.  I have at present no other master than yourself, Monsieur Georges, for I shall always consider you as my master, though I may not enjoy the felicity of waiting upon you.”

“You have left the Count, then,” said I, “after remaining three days in the house, according to your usual practice.”

“Not three hours, mon maitre,” replied Antonio; “but I will tell you the circumstances.  Soon after I left you I repaired to the house of Monsieur le Comte; I entered the kitchen, and looked about me.  I cannot say that I had much reason to be dissatisfied with what I saw; the kitchen was large and commodious, and every thing appeared neat and in its proper place, and the domestics civil and courteous; yet I know not how it was, the idea at once rushed into my mind that the house was by no means suited to me, and that I was not destined to stay there long; so hanging my haversac upon a nail, and sitting down on the dresser, I commenced singing a Greek song, as I am in the habit of doing when dissatisfied.