of happiness is greater. Because a few thorns are to
be found in a basket full of roses, is the existence of those beautiful
flowers to be denied? No; it is a slander to deny that life is happiness.
When I am in a dark room, it pleases me greatly to see through a window
an immense horizon before me.

As supper-time was drawing near, I went to Don Sancio, whom I found in
magnificently-furnished apartments. The table was loaded with silver
plate, and his servants were in livery. He was alone, but all his guests
arrived soon after me--Cecilia, Marina, and Bellino, who, either by
caprice or from taste, was dressed as a woman. The two young sisters,
prettily arranged, looked charming, but Bellino, in his female costume,
so completely threw them into the shade, that my last doubt vanished.

"Are you satisfied," I said to Don Sancio, "that Bellino is a woman?"

"Woman or man, what do I care! I think he is a very pretty 'castrato',
and 'I have seen many as good-looking as he is."

"But are you sure he is a 'castrato'?"

"'Valgame Dios'!" answered the grave Castilian, "I have not the slightest
wish to ascertain the truth."

Oh, how widely different our thoughts were! I admired in him the wisdom
of which I was so much in need, and did not venture upon any more
indiscreet questions. During the supper, however, my greedy eyes could
not leave that charming being; my vicious nature caused me to feel
intense voluptuousness in believing him to be of that sex to which I
wanted him to belong.

Don Sancio's supper was excellent, and, as a matter of course, superior
to mine; otherwise the pride of the Castilian would have felt humbled. As
a general rule, men are not satisfied with what is good; they want the
best, or, to speak more to the point, the most. He gave us white
truffles, several sorts of shell-fish, the best fish of the Adriatic, dry
champagne, peralta, sherry and pedroximenes wines.

After that supper worthy of Lucullus, Bellino sang with a voice of such
beauty that it deprived us of the small amount of reason left in us by
the excellent wine. His movements, the expression of his looks, his gait,
his walk, his countenance, his voice, and, above all, my own instinct,
which told me that I could not possibly feel for a castrato what I felt
for Bellino, confirmed me in my hopes; yet it was necessary that my eyes
should ascertain the truth.

After many compliments and a thousand thanks, we took leave of the grand
Spaniard,