one of these I came from my inn, a quiet narrow place having
houses with patios or courtyards on either side of it. As I walked
down this street I noticed a man sitting in the shade on a stool in the
doorway of his patio. He was small and withered, with keen black eyes
and a wonderful air of wisdom, and he watched me as I went by. Now the
house of the famous physician whom I sought was so placed that the man
sitting at this doorway could command it with his eyes and take note
of all who went in and came out. When I had found the house I returned
again into the quiet street and walked to and fro there for a while,
thinking of what tale I should tell to the physician, and all the time
the little man watched me with his keen eyes. At last I had made up my
story and went to the house, only to find that the physician was from
home. Having inquired when I might find him I left, and once more took
to the narrow street, walking slowly till I came to where the little man
sat. As I passed him, his broad hat with which he was fanning himself
slipped to the ground before my feet. I stooped down, lifted it from the
pavement, and restored it to him.

'A thousand thanks, young sir,' he said in a full and gentle voice. 'You
are courteous for a foreigner.'

'How do you know me to be a foreigner, senor?' I asked, surprised out of
my caution.

'If I had not guessed it before, I should know it now,' he answered,
smiling gravely. 'Your Castilian tells its own tale.'

I bowed, and was about to pass on, when he addressed me again.

'What is your hurry, young sir? Step in and take a cup of wine with me;
it is good.'

I was about to say him nay, when it came into my mind that I had nothing
to do, and that perhaps I might learn something from this gossip.

'The day is hot, senor, and I accept.'

He spoke no more, but rising, led me into a courtyard paved with marble
in the centre of which was a basin of water, having vines trained around
it. Here were chairs and a little table placed in the shade of the
vines. When he had closed the door of the patio and we were seated,
he rang a silver bell that stood upon the table, and a girl, young and
fair, appeared from the house, dressed in a quaint Spanish dress.

'Bring wine,' said my host.

The wine was brought, white wine of Oporto such as I had never tasted
before.

'Your health, senor?' And my host stopped, his glass in his hand, and
looked at me inquiringly.

'Diego d'Aila,' I answe