so, fair gitana."

"And who is Don Juanico, your son?" said Preciosa.

"That gallant by your side," said the cavalier.

"Truly, I thought your worship had sworn by some bantling of two years
old," said Preciosa. "What a pretty little pet of a Don Juanico![72] Why
he is old enough to be married; and by certain lines on his forehead, I
foresee that married he will be before three years are out, and much to
his liking too, if in the meantime he be neither lost nor changed."

[72] Juanico, diminutive of Juan; Johnny.

"Ay, ay," said one of the company; "the gitanilla can tell the meaning
of a wrinkle."

During this time, the three gipsy girls, who accompanied Preciosa, had
got their heads together and were whispering each other. "Girls," said
Christina, "that is the gentleman that gave us the three pieces of eight
this morning."

"Sure enough," said they; "but don't let us say a word about it unless
he mentions it. How do we know but he may wish to keep it secret?"

Whilst the three were thus conferring together, Preciosa replied to the
last remark about wrinkles. "What I see with my eyes, I divine with my
fingers. Of the Senor Don Juanico, I know without lines that he is
somewhat amorous, impetuous, and hasty; and a great promiser of things
that seem impossible. God grant he be not a deceiver, which would be
worse than all. He is now about to make a long journey; but the bay
horse thinks one thing, and the man that saddles him thinks another
thing. Man proposes and God disposes. Perhaps he may think he is bound
for Onez, and will find himself on the way to Gaviboa."

"In truth, gitana," said Don Juan, "you have guessed right respecting me
in several points. I certainly intend, with God's will, to set out for
Flanders in four or five days, though you forebode that I shall have to
turn out of my road; yet I hope no obstacle will occur to frustrate my
purpose."

"Say no more, senorito," the gipsy replied; "but commend yourself to
God, and all will be well. Be assured I know nothing at all of what I
have been saying. It is no wonder if I sometimes hit the mark, since I
talk so much and always at random. I wish I could speak to such good
purpose as to persuade you not to leave home, but remain quietly with
your parents to comfort their old age; for I am no friend to these
Flanders expeditions, especially for a youth of your tender years. Wait
till you are grown a little more and better able to bear the toils of
war;