We took the road to Seville, not only to gratify my great desire to revisit my native country, but to please Donna Maria, who burned with impatience to try the effect of her charms upon the rich merchants who, I had told her, were continually arriving from Peru, laden with gold and jewels. She doubted not that she should fill her coffers at their expense. Notwithstanding our good intentions towards these gentlemen, however, we travelled very slowly for fear of fatigue; and I own that I felt a secret pleasure in surveying the country through which I had formerly passed, although it recalled to my remembrance the sad adventures of my youth. I passed the inn where I had been a servant; and at the sight of Cantillana I fancied I still smelt those excellent ragouts of mules with which I had formerly been regaled; and I did not forget the cudgelling which had been so liberally bestowed on me and the muleteer by the two officers of the Holy Brotherhood. I arrived and dined at that charming inn where they made omelets of pullets. I told my wife this story, and she laughed at it heartily. At last I reached the hermitage, where I lay the first night after I left Seville, and, transported with the recollection, I addressed the Saint in these terms: “Oh great St. Lazarus,” cried I, “when I left the steps of thy chapel ’twas with tears in my eyes, on foot, alone, and poor, but innocent; and now thou seest me return, married, and in good condition, and well mounted; but how innocent, Heaven and thou know!” It was quite night when we arrived at Seville, so that we were obliged to take up our quarters at the first inn we came to; but the next morning I rose betimes and took lodgings in St. Batholomew-street, whither I had my baggage conveyed. The next thing I did was to ask after my mother, but I could hear no news of her until some months afterwards, when Donna Maria being on a visit to a lady with whom she had made an acquaintance, heard her name mentioned by mere chance, and was much astonished to learn that she lived very near us with a young lady who passed for her daughter. No sooner had I ascertained my mother’s residence than I flew to it, found her at home, and we embraced with sincere affection. We related to each other in a few words the adventures that had happened to us both since our parting, each of us, however, concealing whatever we thought fit. She was very anxious, for example, to persuade me that she had brought up the young lady who lived with her, out of pure charity, having been attached to her from her earliest infancy. I pretended to believe her word implicitly, though I entertained considerable doubt whether she had not other views which she did not choose to confess. After a long conversation, I introduced Donna Maria to her. My mother received her very kindly, and embraced her in an affectionate manner not very common in a mother-in-law.