Mendoza at this time was lodging at one of the best and most central hotels of Madrid. When Miguel reached there, he was still asleep. Nevertheless, he went to his room, and took it upon himself to open the shutters like a friend whose familiarity was limitless.
"Holá! I see that you sleep just the same as when you were not a great man."
Mendoza rubbed his eyes, and looked at him in amazement.
"What does this mean, Miguelito? Why so early in the morning?"
"My dear Perico, the first thing that you must do is to get rid of this condescending tone. When there are people present, I am perfectly willing for you to condescend, and I will call you 'most illustrious lordship' if you like; but when we are alone, just remember that I am not your vassal."
"You are always just the same, Miguel," replied Mendoza, a little exasperated.
"That is the advantage that you have over me: I am always the same; you are always changing and playing a new and brilliant rôle in society. I am satisfied, however, with mine—so satisfied that the fear of having to be different is what brings me here so early in the morning to disturb your dreams of glory."
"What do you mean?"
"That having up to the present time been considered a person 'well fixed,' or, to use the expressions affected by us literary fellows, being an Hidalgo of 'ancient stock,' and having 'five hundred sueldos guerdon,' I—but you don't know what this means?"
"No!" replied Mendoza, with an impatient gesture.