“From all this, you will perceive that the master, with whom your faithful soul doubtless often dwells, is supplied—­restricted by no monastic discipline—­with whatever suits his taste.  He frequently devotes himself for hours to religious exercises, and also retires to the black-draped room with the coffin, which you know; but the old industry and secular cares pursued him here.  Mounted messengers come and go continually, but they are not allowed to remain near the house.

“Even in Brussels he can scarcely have written and answered more letters than he does here.

“If only the body would prosper as well as the mind.  That is as active and alert as ever.  But the body—­the body!  O Senor Adrian!  I fear that the end is not far distant, although our royal sufferer looks better than at his arrival.

“‘The eating!’ Dr. Mathys complains; but you know well enough how that is.

“Three days have passed since I began this letter.  You are aware of most of what concerns your beloved master; now for my husband.

“He has never had service so arduous as here, for the grand prior, Don Luis de Avila, is nothing to his Majesty except a dear old brother in arms, with whom he is fond of talking about the past.  Everything rests on my poor husband.  He said, a short time ago, that he would no longer endure playing the host to everybody who comes to San Yuste, being agent for everybody in Spain who desires anything from the Emperor Charles, and at the same time constantly caring for the person of the sick sovereign.  This life, he thinks, may suit a person who has taken leave of his property and the world, but he still clings to both, and especially to me, the poor wife who has been parted from him so long.  He has served the Emperor twenty-five years, and during this time he lost all his brothers in the war.  The estates came to him, and how long they have already been deprived of the master’s eye!

“Don Luis told the Emperor Charles all this, yet he refused him leave of absence to go to Villagarcia.  Instead, I was obliged to move near my husband, and am now living with Geronimo, in the wretched village of Cuacos, which is easily reached from San Yuste.  There I finally arrived with the boy whom the Virgin, in her inexhaustible mercy, gave to me, a poor, childless woman, to make me happy, although on his account I wronged my lord and husband by a sinful suspicion.

“Here I must begin my letter for the third time.

“It was fortunate that Geronimo left Massi and Leganes, for he was allowed to grow up there like a little savage.  Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command.—­No one opposed him, so in Villagarcia the first thing necessary was to accustom him to discipline, obedience, and the manners of the nobles.  The trouble was not great, and how richly the boy rewarded it!  He is now in his twelfth year, and how your good wife would stare, Adrian, if she could see her nursling again!