I approached softly; the door of the same apartment I had formerly seen was standing partly open, and I again saw the same fair young girl, who had been asleep on the sofa, running her fingers over a beautiful guitar, to which she was softly singing a lively Spanish song. Her back was towards me, and her neck and shoulders (where visible between her thick lace veil and high Spanish ruff) were dazzlingly white. I could distinctly see her face, which was reflected in an opposite mirror. Her hair was dressed loftily over a high pearl-studded comb, after the fashion of her countrywomen; she had bright lively eyes, the most wicked smile, and the finest teeth, in the world. The little coquette seemed to be studying smiles and positions in the mirror, and, as she did so, a little dimple appeared in each of her cheeks, which were pale, or exhibited the faintest tinge of red--altogther unlike the full blushing cheeks of the German maids of Holstein. Then, as she sang, her voice rang clearly and beautifully as a little silver bell. It was a Tonadilla, from a play of the old dramatist, Lopez de Vega; but from which of them Heaven only knows; for old Lopez wrote such an incredible number, that I do not believe he would have recognised it himself. "Gentil Donna, gentil donna-- Gentil donna, goddess bright! Fairer than the morning light! How long shall I be doom'd to feel, The wound thy hand alone can heal? Gentil donna, gentil donna-- Gentil donna, to me give The hope from this dear wound to live. Gentil donna--see, the dart Of love has pierced my bleeding heart." ------ "Caballero, caballero, Caballero, hence away, Lest I laugh at what you say: Caballero----" Suddenly, in the mirror's polished depth, her eye caught a glimpse of my reflected figure, with its shining cuirass and dark green tartans. The guitar dropped from her hand, and she turned towards me with a pale and startled expression. It was now my turn to be confused, for I had no business there. "Pardon me, señora," said I, in my most dulcet Spanish, for I had perceived at once that she was a Spaniard; "I have mistaken the way to my own apartment, and--and----" She appeared to rally her spirits, and bowed. "This old house," I continued, advancing one pace, "with its long wooden stairs, its dark passages, so full of doors to the right and to the left--you understand me, señora?" "Oh yes! señor--I think I do." "Its wainscoted galleries and ambulatories," I continued, advancing another pace, "are quite perplexing, and I feel that I am an awkward intruder." "You look, señor, just like one dropped from the moon," said she with a smile, as she resumed her guitar with its broad blue ribbon; "but I have the honour to wish you a good day----" "And you pardon my intrusion?" "Pardon--oh yes! but, in ascending the stair, keep always to the right, remember. I cannot be angry with so gallant a cavalier," (_galante caballero_.)