“Certain, I think, master. These priests! If what one hears be true!”
“What do you learn of Don Diego?” demanded Sir Nicholas.
“Little to the point, sir. A creature of no weight, as it seems to me. These Spanish caballeros! Foh, match me a young Englishman, say I! Well, he is prodigal: all young men are so. It’s to say nothing. He does what all springalds do in ruffling it about the town. For the rest I learn that he is accounted well-looking, rides comely, knows how to handle a bilbo, hath elegant accomplishments by the score. You nose out a fop. I do not gainsay it, for so it appears to me. He need not concern us.”
“He might concern us very nearly,” said Sir Nicholas. “What else? Is the father of this fine sprig alive?”
“Surely, master, but here again I would say, a creature of no account. As I read our host’s talk—in his cups he waxes a thought garrulous. Strange sight in one so prim!—he lies beneath his good lady’s thumb.” He made a descriptive gesture. “So! By all I can understand that is a lady of odd manners, sir. You would say an original. We shall doubtless know more anon. They have estates somewhere to the north of Burgos, as I apprehend, but at this present, sir, they stay, all four, at their house in Madrid. This I have found, off the Plaza de Oriente. While you slept, master, I have been about the town a little. Some fine buildings, to be sure, and a quantity of Popish Churches—enough to turn a man’s stomach. The house of the Carvalho you may find easily. There is a wall grown with a vine at the back, and, as I judge, a garden upon the inner side.” He rolled a knowing eye. “Thought I, we may find a use for that. Further, master, there is to be a ball given this day week at that house, in honour of our Diego’s birthday. This is much talked of, for it seems these Spaniards do not give them often. All the world will be there.”
“Then so must I,” said Beauvallet, and sprang out of bed. “Now how to make the acquaintance of the Carvalhos?”
“Walk on the Mentidero, master,” Joshua advised. “It is still the haunt of your Court gallant, as I hear. You might compare it with Duke Humphrey’s Walk at home—to its disadvantage, mark you!”
“A happy thought,” said Beauvallet, pulling on his netherstocks. “I might perchance come up with my friend of last night.”
The Mentidero was a raised walk along the wall of the Church of San Felipe el Real, which stood at the entrance to the Calle Mayor. Here came the wits of the day, and the courtiers, to exchange gossip, to talk the latest scandal, to exhibit a new fashion in cloaks, or a new way of tying a garter. Under it were a score of little booths, where one might buy such trifles as a pair of embroidered gloves for a lady, a love-knot, or an ouch of wrought silver. Across the Calle Mayor lay the Oñate Palace, with the rough sidewalk beneath where painters showed their pictures to attract the Court. The market lay in the centre of the Calle; there were water-carriers gathered there, and the scene was busy and noisy. Round about were shops, and here and there a coffeehouse, where one might meet one’s cronies.
The gentleman from Andalusia was found upon the Mentidero, and professed himself charmed to meet the Chevalier again. Sir Nicholas joined him in his strolling up and down, and came at length to his business with him. In default of Don Manuel, whom he had hoped to meet, he would desire to present himself to Don Manuel’s worthy brother-in-law. Yet he was uncertain how this project might be effected, since he could claim no acquaintance with the Carvalhos.
The matter was very easily arranged. Don Juan de Aranda would himself present the Chevalier any time he should choose. He might meet Don Diego de Carvalho this very morning, if he wished, since Don Diego was abroad, after his usual custom, upon the Mentidero. They had passed him a while back, talking to de Lara and young Vasquez.
They turned, therefore, and began to walk slowly back the way they had come.
“I understand Don Diego to be a very proper caballero,” Beauvallet remarked. “The only offspring, I believe?”
“True, señor.” Don Juan was a little reticent, and it struck Beauvallet that he had no great admiration for Don Diego. Presently he nodded, and spoke again. “There is Don Diego, señor: the smaller of the two.”
A slight young gentleman was lounging gracefully ahead of them, exchanging languid conversation with another, just as elegant. Don Diego was very dark, with black brows, almost meeting over the bridge of his nose, and full, curved lips. He wore a jewel in the lobe of his left ear, was very generously scented with musk, and twirled a rose between one very white finger and thumb. A flat velvet hat with a plume in it was set on his curled head at an angle; his ruff was large and edged with lace, and his short cloak was lined with carnation silk.
Sir Nicholas looked, and said afterwards that he had an instant itching in his toe. Be that as it may, he went forward very pleasantly, and upon Don Juan’s introduction, made his best bow.
The bow was returned. As Don Diego straightened his back he found a pair of very bright blue eyes looking into his. The two men seemed to measure each other; it is probable that each conceived an instant dislike for the other, but each hid the uncharitable emotion.
“The Chevalier is travelling amongst us for his pleasure,” said Don Juan. “We are all resolved to show him the true Spanish hospitality that he may carry a good tale of us home with him to Paris.”
Don Diego smiled politely. “I hope
