“You are to sleep in the same room with me,” whispered Don Felipe in Diego’s ear. “I asked my mother to arrange it so.”
After saying that supper would be served as soon as the travelers were refreshed, Doña Christina went to her own part of the castle. Doña Luisita had mysteriously disappeared. Don Felipe threaded his way through many halls and corridors, all very splendid, past sumptuous chambers, until he came to a large room with many small windows. It was comfortably furnished, but without luxury.
“This was my room always,” said Don Felipe. “There is a room next it where I studied, and my sister often studied there with me. Below are my mother’s apartments and my sister’s. It is surprising how fast my sister is becoming a woman.”
Diego said nothing of Doña Luisita, rather to Don Felipe’s surprise.
As soon as the lads were washed and dressed, after their long day’s travel, they were summoned to supper. It was served in a splendid hall, hung with armor and with tapestries. The table was long, for the household was large. At the head of the table sat Doña Christina, with the Admiral on her right and Doña Luisita on her left. Next Doña Luisita sat her governess, whose name, Señora Julia Enriquez, Don Felipe whispered to Diego. She was very grave in manner and appearance, but not unhandsome. Don Felipe, taking the seat of his dead father, was at the foot of the table, and Fray Piña was placed on his right.
The supper was sumptuous and ceremonious. Doña Christina was all kindness to the Admiral, and her good sense and dignity were displayed in her conversation.
When supper was over Doña Christina retired to her apartment; and Don Felipe, after seeing that all his guests were comfortable in their rooms, went to his own, where he found Diego.
“I think,” said Diego, gravely, “that Señora Julia is the sternest and severest lady I ever saw. She must be worse than Fray Piña.”
Don Felipe laughed aloud at this.
“Señora Julia takes it out in looking stern. She is the mildest creature on earth. My mother says the only fault to be found with her is that she is too easy, and, especially, has ever let me torment her, poor lady, and has returned it with kindness. I will say, though, that I should not have been so tormenting to her if I had not loved her and did not know that she has loved me from a child. If she had told my mother of some of my pranks—well, it would have gone hard with me! Now I am going to my mother, who has sent for me. Go you with me to the library, where you will find many books and manuscripts—for I know that you love books almost as well as adventure.”