If my experience had taught me such wholesome lessons as I might have expected, I should have shown the impudent rascal the door. Alas! I began to be weary of my experience and the fruits of it; I began to feel the horrors of a great void; I had need of some slight passion to wile away the dreary hours. I therefore made this Mercury welcome, and told him I should be obliged by his presenting me to some beauties, neither too easy nor too difficult to access.
“Come with me to the ball,” he rejoined, “and I will shew you some women worthy of your attention.”
The ball was to take place the same evening, and I agreed; he asked me to give him some dinner, and I agreed to that also. After dinner he told me he had no money, and I was foolish enough to give him a doubloon. The fellow, who was ugly, blind of one eye, and full of impudence, shewed me a score of pretty women, whose histories he told me, and seeing me to be interested in one of them he promised to bring her to a procuress. He kept his word, but he cost me dear; for the girl only served for an evening’s amusement.
Towards the end of the carnival the noble Don Diego, the father of Donna Ignazia, brought me my boots, and the thanks of his wife and himself for the pleasure I had given her at the ball.
“She is as good as she is beautiful,” said I, “she deserves to prosper, and if I have not called on her it is only that I am anxious to do nothing which could injure her reputation.”
“Her reputation, Senor Caballero, is above all reproach, and I shall be delighted to see you whenever you honour me with a call.”
“The carnival draws near to its end,” I replied, “and if Donna Ignazia would like to go to another ball I shall be happy to take her again.”
“You must come and ask her yourself.”
“I will not fail to do so.”
I was anxious to see how the pious girl, who had tried to make me pay a hundred doubloons for the chance of having her after her marriage, would greet me, so I called the same day. I found her with her mother, rosary in hand, while her noble father was botching old boots. I laughed inwardly at being obliged to give the title of don to a cobbler who would not make boots because he was an hidalgo. Hidalgo, meaning noble, is derived from ‘higo de albo’, son of somebody, and the people, whom the nobles call ‘higos de nade’, sons of nobody, often revenge themselves by calling the nobles hideputas, that is to say, sons of harlots.