The muleteer was still too much taken up with the recollection of his pleasure at the inn, to give up speaking of it so soon. He could not resist telling us that there was sufficient in that adventure to serve him for laughter for the remainder of his days; “and I,” cried I, interrupting him abruptly, “shall have cause to repent all my life that I did not serve that poisonous old hag even worse than the soldiers did; but she is not yet dead,” added I, “and I may have my revenge still.” The friars, remarking with what eagerness I uttered these words, were curious to know what had been the occasion of it. The muleteer, who desired no better sport, that he might have another excuse for a good hearty laugh, related the story anew to these gentlemen: and in the course of it introduced my misfortune also, which was no small mortification to me. The friars condemned exceedingly the conduct of the old hostess, and blamed my resentment no less. “My son,” said the elder of the two to me, “you are but young; hot blood carries you away, and deprives you of the use of your reason; know that you have sinned as much in having regretted that you have lost the opportunity of committing a crime, as if you had really committed one.” The holy man did not finish his remonstrance here, but held a long discourse upon anger, and the desire of revenge. It appeared to me so like a sermon, that I was persuaded he had preached it more than once, and that he was glad to have the opportunity of refreshing his memory by repeating it. Certain it is, that the most part of what he addressed to me was far above my comprehension, as well as that of our muleteer, who thinking of nothing but the old woman, was laughing in his sleeve, all the time that the preacher was throwing away his time upon us. At length we arrived at Cantillana, where the two friars took leave of us until the next morning, and went to take up their night’s lodging at a friend’s house.