"For, you see, most gracious Lady, Rollo reminds me of what I was about to tell you as a continuation or counterpart of the Vitzliputzli story, only much more racy, because a love story. Have you ever heard of a certain Pedro the Cruel?"
"I have a faint recollection."
"A kind of Bluebeard king."
"That is fine. That is the kind girls like best to hear about, and I still remember we always said of my friend Hulda Niemeyer, whose name you have heard, I believe, that she knew no history, except the six wives of Henry the Eighth, that English Bluebeard, if the word is strong enough for him. And, really, she knew these six by heart. You ought to have heard her when she pronounced the names, especially that of the mother of queen Elizabeth,—so terribly embarrassed, as though it were her turn next—But now, please, the story of Don Pedro."
"Very well. At Don Pedro's court there was a handsome black Spanish knight, who wore on his breast the cross of Calatrava, which is about the equivalent of the Black Eagle and the Pour le Mérite together. This cross was essential, they always had to wear it, and this Calatrava knight, whom the queen secretly loved, of course—"
"Why of course?"
"Because we are in Spain."
"So we are."
"And this Calatrava knight, I say, had a very beautiful dog, a Newfoundland dog, although there were none as yet, for it was just a hundred years before the discovery of America. A very beautiful dog, let us call him Rollo."
When Rollo heard his name he barked and wagged his tail.