The
vineyards are amongst the best in Spain; the luscious wines are sent to
Bordeaux to mix with inferior clarets, which find their way to the
English market. Ah! the English little know what adulterated articles
are sold in England that the French would never look at."

At this moment our fair Eve, who for the last few minutes had come out
of paradise, looked attentively at the priest, hesitated a moment, then
spoke.

"From the singular likeness," she said, "I think you must be related to
the Duke de Nevada in Madrid? Forgive me if I am mistaken."

"Senora," replied the old priest with a polite bow, "Juan de Nevada is
my elder and much-loved brother, though we seldom meet--for Madrid is
the one place I never visit. I am gratified that you see in me the least
resemblance to that truly noble and great man."

"Have you never heard him speak of the Senor de Costello?" continued the
lady.

"Without doubt," returned the priest. "They are neighbours in Madrid. I
have heard him mention a very charming daughter, and also very charming
cousin who lives in Gerona."

"I am that charming daughter," laughed the fair Eve; "but the term
applies much more correctly to my lovely cousin. Her beauty has created
a furore in Madrid. We are great friends, and she stays with us part of
every year. She has just become engaged to your brother's eldest son,
and therefore some day will be Duchess de Nevada--though I trust the day
is far distant. You have doubtless heard of the engagement?"

"Indeed, yes," returned the priest. "Only last week I wrote my nephew a
long letter congratulating him upon his good fortune. But how comes it,
madame, if I may be so indiscreet, that my fair travelling companion
should not herself eventually have become Madame de Nevada?"

"For the excellent reason that sits opposite to me," quickly replied
this lovely Eve, laughing and blushing in the most bewitching manner.
Upon which she introduced her husband to the priest as Count Pedro de la
Torre.

The name explained what had puzzled us for some time. We were haunted by
a feeling of having met this young man in a previous state of existence,
but now discovered that we had really met him in Toledo. He was amongst
the group who had sat that first night of our arrival at the other end
of the table, smoking and drinking wine and coffee. He it was who had
come forward to speak to the man in the sheepskin, and then handed him a
bumper of wine. He had left the ver