“My Lord,” replied Don Rodrigo, “no one on earth is more persuaded than I am of the truth of what you say; but yet I cannot but think that this Ambrosio only serves you to have the means of making himself useful to another. He makes himself too familiar with Daraxa; as soon as he sees her he addresses her in the Moorish language, which she always answers in so complaisant a manner that I am convinced they have been long acquainted. In short, I would not swear but that Ambrosio is any thing rather than a gardener.” Don Lewis, instead of allowing that he could possibly have been deceived on this occasion, became enraged with spite at seeing himself suspected of having been made a dupe of. “You are a strange man!” said he to his son. “Why did you allow these liberties of which you complain? Do you not know that it is a capital crime among us for a servant to lift his eyes towards his mistress? Do you but treat this servant like the rest, and I will be answerable for his fidelity. In regard to Daraxa, trust me to take proper care of her. Rest in peace; I am on the watch night and day, and am well informed of every thing that passes in the family.” Respect kept Don Rodrigo silent, who quitted his father shortly after this, to wait on some one who desired to speak to him. After he had left him, the old Marquis, in spite of what he had been just saying, fell into a deep musing, and a thousand vexatious reflections occurred to him, which filled his mind with suspicions. To complete his present troubles his chief gardener came up to him and said, “My Lord, I have something of importance to communicate to you. I heard such a noise in the garden last night, that I am convinced there were several people round your house. Had I dared to have quitted my own, contrary to your orders, I should be better able to tell you more on the subject.” “People in my garden at night!” cried Don Lewis astonished; “they must have come from your lodge then.” “No, my Lord,” answered the master gardener; “Ambrosio and my servant have not the power of leaving the house, the door of which I am most particular in shutting every night, and never trust the key out of my own hands.” The old Marquis knew not what to think. “Who can have entered my garden?” said he to himself; “and what motives can they have had? I am in no fear of thieves; the height of the wall is sufficient to deter them. I cannot imagine it to be one of Daraxa’s lovers, who surely could not be so fool-hardy as to expose himself to so great danger for the sake of merely seeing her from a window. My gardener must certainly have fancied all this, or the noise must have proceeded from some of my own servants. If I have reason to suspect any one, it is that knave Ambrosio, in respect of whom my son may be more in the right than I chose to allow.”