“Are they going away?”—asked Tito, recovering from his bewilderment.
“Yes, sir,—to France,”—replied the porter dryly, shutting the door in his face.
The ex-page went home, more downhearted than ever, took off and carefully laid away his fine clothes, donned the worst he had, cut off his long curls, and shaved a youthful mustache that had just commenced to appear. The next day he took possession of the rickety chair which Juan Gil had occupied for forty years, surrounded by lasts, scissors, straps and wax.
Thus we find him at the beginning of this tale, which, as I have already said, is called, “The Strange Friend of Tito Gil.”
CHAPTER II.
MORE SERVICES AND REWARDS.
The month of June, 1724, was drawing to a close. Tito had been a shoemaker two years; but it must not be imagined that he was resigned to his fate. He was obliged to work night and day to gain a living, and regretted hourly the consequent injury to his hands. When he lacked customers, he spent his time reading, never by any chance throughout the entire week, crossing the threshold of his secluded retreat. There he lived alone, taciturn, hypochondriacal, without other diversion than that of hearing his old friend praise the beauty of Crispina Lopez, or the generosity of the Count of Rionuevo.
On Sundays, however, his life completely changed. He would then dress in his old costume of page (carefully laid away during the rest of the week), and go to the steps of the cathedral of San Millán, close by the palace of Monteclaro, where in former days his loved Elena attended mass.
