"This may give you an insight into the Spanish character on more than one point," said L'Isle. "As to their love of dancing, and of the fandango in particular, it is said, though I do not vouch for it, that the Church of Rome, scandalized that a country so renowned for the purity of its faith, had not long ago proscribed so profane a dance, resolved to pronounce the solemn condemnation of it. A consistory assembled; the prosecution of the fandango was begun according to rule, and a sentence was about to be thundered against it. But there was a wise Spanish prelate present who knew his countrymen, and dreaded a schism, should they be driven to choose between the fandango and the faith. He stepped forward and objected to the criminal's being condemned without being heard. "The observation had weight with the assembly. He was allowed to produce before them a _majo_ and a _maja_ of Seville, who, to the sound of voluptuous music, displayed all the seductive graces of the dance. The severity of the judges was not proof against the exhibition. Their austere countenances began to relax; they rose from their seats; their legs and arms soon found their former suppleness; the consistory-hall was changed into a dancing-room, and the fandango acquitted." Both ladies laughed heartily at this story, and L'Isle went on to say; "In spite of the exhibition before us, these people, in their serious hours, retain all the gravity and ceremonious stateliness in language and manner of their forefathers, in the time of Charles the Fifth and his glooming son, when the Spaniard was the admiration and dread of Europe. "I have been told," said Lady Mabel, "that you may, at this day, find many a Spaniard who might sit for the portrait of Alva himself." "Yes," answered L'Isle, "It has been well said that the Spaniard of the sixteenth century has vanished, but his mask remains." Twilight was now failing them, and the party from Elvas hastened back to the posada. The horses had been brought out, and some of the ladies were already mounted, when Don Alonso Melendez came hastily up, having followed them to take a ceremonious leave. His parting words with his new friends, and especially his compliments to Lady Mabel, who did not allow herself to remain in his debt, delayed them some time. As they rode off, he waved his hat, and called out: "_Con todo el mondo guerra, y paz con Inglaterra!_" "We taught them that proverb long ago," said Cranfield, "by taking their galleons laden with plate from the New World." "The Spaniard has a treasury of wisdom locked up in his proverbs," said L'Isle. "What a pity it is he will not take some of it out to meet the current demands on him." They soon again crossed the bridge, and entered the _tete du point_--but the dancers had vanished; their music was hushed; nor was its place supplied by the song of the morning. The chorus of "Guadiana--Guadiana," no longer arose from its banks. All was still, dark and desolate before them.