Don Rodrigo, who at that time felt no desire to enter into conversation with them, allowed them to depart without any observation, and walked round the garden alone. Soon after this he met his father, who was diverting himself with looking over his flowers, and he stopped to bear him company. Don Lewis was speaking to Ambrosio, professing himself well satisfied with his attention and skill in the culture of his flowers. “He is possibly more skilful than is to be wished,” said Don Rodrigo, with an affected grin; “and, if I am not deceived, understands more than one employment.” The old Marquis, whose attention was entirely engrossed in looking over his parterre, did not at first comprehend the meaning of his son’s remark, and answered, without reflection, “It is true that Ambrosio is not deficient in sense, and I am convinced that I shall find him a very useful servant.” “I very much doubt that he is here with that intention,” replied Don Rodrigo; “at least I am persuaded that others will have better reason than you to be satisfied with his services. Shall I tell you my sentiments? I am of opinion that he is more devoted to Daraxa’s interests than to your’s; or at least that he is the agent of some one of that lady’s lovers.” “Ah! my son,” interrupted Don Lewis laughing heartily, “I am now convinced that you are really in love.” “If I am,” said Don Rodrigo, “I can assure you that my love assists me to see instead of blinding me. I can believe my own eyesight.” “What have you seen then?” cried the old man; “tell me distinctly: for you shall find that I am Don Lewis de Padilla, son of Don Gaspar, who was reckoned the most difficult to be deceived among men in the age in which he lived; and I also have had the honour to be told a hundred times that I am even more prudent and circumspect than my father. If the choice that the Queen made of me to take charge of the beautiful Moor is not sufficient to make you easy upon this subject, inquire of the wisest persons at Court, whether I am a man to be imposed on. In a word, son, I am turned of fifty; and if, when I was only half that age, they had brought me not merely an Arragonian, but even the most cunning fellow among the Greeks, it would only have been necessary for me to look at him attentively for one moment to have penetrated the inmost recesses of his soul.”