The British minister performed all I could wish, and much more than I could expect; he had an interview with the Duke of Rivas, with whom he had much discourse upon my affair: the duke was all smiles and courtesy. He moreover wrote a private letter to the duke, which he advised me to present when I next paid him a visit, and, to crown all, he wrote a letter directed to myself, in which he did me the honour to say that he had a regard for me, and that nothing would afford him greater pleasure than to hear that I had obtained the permission which I was seeking. So I went to the duke, and delivered the letter. He was ten times more kind and affable than before: he read the letter, smiled most sweetly, and then, as if seized with sudden enthusiasm, he extended his arms in a manner almost theatrical, exclaiming, “_Al secretario_, _el hara por usted el gusto_.” Away I hurried to the secretary, who received me with all the coolness of an icicle: I related to him the words of his principal, and then put into his hand the letter of the British minister to myself. The secretary read it very deliberately, and then said that it was evident His Excellency did take an interest in the matter. He then asked me my name, and taking a sheet of paper, sat down as if for the purpose of writing the permission. I was in ecstasy—all of a sudden, however, he stopped, lifted up his head, seemed to consider a moment, and then putting his pen behind his ear, he said, “Amongst the decrees of the Council of Trent is one to the effect” . . . “Oh dear!” said I. “A singular person is this Oliban,” said I to Galiano; “you cannot imagine what trouble he gives me: he is continually talking about the Council of Trent.”