open, whilst a stable-boy led the _fidalgo’s_ white she-mule, with her Moorish caparisons, up and down the square, and on the garden side, under the sun and the flies, a troop of he-mules laden with trunks fastened with iron rings kept the narrow street in wonder with the jingling of their bells. In this way Don Ruy learned of the journey of the Lord of Lara, and thus the whole city learned it too. It was a great satisfaction to Donna Leonor, who was fond of Cabril, with its rich orchards and gardens, on to which the balconied windows of her light apartments opened without a grating; there, at least, she had ample air, full sunlight, boxes of flowers to water, an aviary, and such long walks of laurel and yew that they were almost liberty. And she hoped that afterwards the country would lighten those cares that had lately made her lord and husband so wrinkled and taciturn. But this hope was not realised, for at the end of a week the face of Don Alonso had not yet lost its cloud, and it was evident that neither fresh greenery, murmurs of running waters, nor scents scattered in the flowering rosaries could calm so bitter and deep an agitation. As in Segovia, he restlessly paced up and down the resounding and vaulted gallery buried in his sheepskin coat, with the point of his beard thrust out in front, and his thick tangled hair bristling backwards; and he had a habit of showing his teeth in a quiet snarl, as if he were meditating evil deeds, and savouring their bitterness in advance. And the whole interest of his life had become concentrated on a retainer who was constantly galloping between Segovia and Cabril, and he sometimes awaited him at the commencement of the village near the large Cross, and stayed listening to the man, who dismounted, out of breath, and straightway gave him his hurried news.