he company there in September to play comic opera in a
small theatre which had been built on purpose. Italian opera had hitherto
never been presented at Valentia, and Marecalchi hoped to make a good
deal of money there. Madame Pelliccia knew nobody in Valentia, and wanted
a letter of introduction to someone there. She asked me if I thought she
could venture to ask the Venetian ambassador to do her the favour, but I
advised her to try the Duke of Arcos.

"Where is he?"

"That gentleman who is looking in your direction now."

"How can I dare to ask him?"

"He is a true nobleman, and I am sure he will be only too happy to oblige
you. Go and ask him now; you will not be denied."

"I haven't the courage to do so. Come with me and introduce me."

"That would spoil everything; he must not even think that I am your
adviser in the matter. I am just going to leave you; you must make your
request directly afterwards."

I walked towards the orchestra, and looking round I saw that the duke was
approaching the actress.

"The thing's as good as done," I said to myself.

After the rehearsal was over Madame Pelliccia came and told me that the
Duke would give her the letter on the day on which the opera was
produced. He kept his word, and she received a sealed letter for a
merchant and banker, Don Diego Valencia.

It was then May, and she was not to go to Valentia till September, so we
shall hear what the letter contained later on.

I often saw the king's gentleman of the chamber, Don Domingo Varnier,
another 'gentleman in the service of the Princess of the Asturias, and
one of the princess's bed-chamber women. This most popular princess
succeeded in suppressing a good deal of the old etiquette, and the tone
of her Court had lost the air of solemnity common in Spanish society. It
was a strange thing to see the King of Spain always dining at eleven
o'clock, like the Parisian cordwainers in the seventeenth century. His
meal always consisted of the same dishes, he always went out hunting at
the same hour, coming back in the evening thoroughly fatigued.

The king was ugly, but everything is relative, he was handsome compared
with his brother, who was terrifically ugly.

This brother never went anywhere without a picture of the Virgin, which
Mengs had painted for him. It was two feet high by three and a half
broad. The figure was depicted as seated on the grass with legs crossed
after the Eastern fashion, and uncovered up to th