“And whose are all those sheep, vaquerita, all with their little lambs gathered round them so tenderly?”
“The Conde Sol’s, lady; for it is he who has them bred.”
“And whose these gardens and this royal-seeming palace, vaquerita? Tell me the truth, I pray.”
“Also the Conde Sol’s, lady; for it is there he has his abode.”
“And whose are those horses, vaquerita, which I hear neighing in the stall?”
“They belong to the Conde Sol, lady; for he goes with them to the hunt.”
“And whose is that fair dame, vaquerita, who stands so near that knight?”
“That is the affianced of the Conde Sol, lady, whom he is just going to make his bride.”
“Now, vaquerita, vaquerita, by the love of our Lord’s sufferings, give me here thy poor dress, and take my robe of silk, and let me go, for I have found him I seek!”
Then she put on the poor dress, and went and stood where the Count must pass, begging charity. When the Count came by, he bent down over his saddle-bow, and gave her an alms, and asked her,—