“You are very kind, good girl, but as I am setting forth to bend the world to my devices with my own two hands I must learn to do these things.” She lowered her looks, and said with a softness almost as of music, “My name is Casilda. If you could speak it once, young gentleman, before you go away forever into the world, I would always remember you, for I have never seen such sweetness and kindness before.” There was such a strange breaking in her voice as thus she spoke that I felt a sinking of the heart; and looking down upon her I saw her little form was trembling through its rags, and that her black eyes were full of tears. “Casilda,” said I, with a pang which once only had I felt and that was as my father closed his eyes; “little Casilda, wherever I go, whether it be all over this great country of Spain, or even as far as foreign places, and even if I enter into wisdom and riches, and I am called to sit with the great, so long as God allows me a memory I will never forget so much goodness as is yours. You are the friend that saved me from the sword; and now you see me without means and in despair you bring me your all and you stand my surety.” “These be true words, young gentleman,” said she in a kind of modest joy, putting one foot in Babieca’s stirrup that she might raise herself to look into my eyes. “You speak but your thoughts, sweet gentleman. And were I a proud lady and might wed you, I would choose your face before the King’s, and I would cherish it beyond all my great possessions.” Upon such speaking I could not forbear to press this sweet little slattern to my bosom, and yielded my lips to the gentlest mouth that the night before had been so fierce in my service. And as my embrace fell about this lowly but honest creature the world itself took a fairer hue. This was a revelation of my father’s wisdom. Harshness and unkindness were not the world’s true condition. The rough voice of the landlord was now calling Casilda lustily. But the little wench would not leave me until she had brought some oats for Babieca’s breakfast, which otherwise the honest horse was like to go without. And even as she left the stable at last, crying, “Go with God, señor; my prayers and my constant heart are yours forever,” she ran back again to whisper with the most urgent instancy, “Be wary, señor, of that foreign man. I would not have you trust him at all. He is much less of a caballero than he speaks, and very much more of a thief.” I had to reprove the little quean for this counsel, lest I should prove untrue to my master’s service. And although by this time the innkeeper was promising to visit her with a cudgel if she did not come to him directly, she ran back to me yet again, jumped into Babieca’s stirrup, just like a cat, and snatched another embrace, declaring that in spite of every innkeeper in the world, her leave of me should be one of kindness.