Throwing the end of his cloak over his left shoulder, he took a key out of his sleeve and opened the door. We entered the house. It was so dark and dismal that it might cause fear to any one coming in. Within there was a small court and fair-sized rooms. He then took off his cloak and, first asking whether I had clean hands, he shook it and folded it. Then, after very carefully blowing the dust off a bench that was there, he put the cloak on it. Having done this he sat upon it and began to ask me questions, in great detail, as to where I came from and how I reached the city. I had to give him a much longer account than I cared for, as it seemed to me that it was a more convenient time for laying the cloth and getting the meal ready than for answering what he asked. Nevertheless, I satisfied his curiosity with the best lies I could invent, relating all I had done well, and holding my tongue about the rest, which did not appear to me to be appropriate. [Sidenote: Nothing to eat in the esquire’s house.] This done, we remained in the same place for a while. It was now nearly two o’clock in the afternoon, and there was no more sign of anything to eat than there would be for the dead. After this my master closed the door and locked it, and neither above nor below was there a sign of any other person in the house. All I had seen was walls, without chairs or table, or even a chest, like that of the rats and snake. It was like a house bewitched. At this juncture he said to me, “You, my boy! have you eaten?” “No, sir,” said I, “for it was not eight o’clock when I met your worship.” “Well,” he said, “although I have breakfasted this morning, I shall be fasting until night, so you must hold on, and afterwards we will have supper.” [Sidenote: Lazaro sees trouble ahead about food, but he dissimulates.] When I heard this I was very much depressed, not so much from hunger, as from the knowledge that the luck was continuing to be against me. For my hardships seemed to be coming back. I mourned over my troubles, and remembered what I once thought, when I was meditating on leaving the priest, that ill-fortune might bring me to something worse. Finally, I began to weep over my miserable past life, and over my approaching death. At the same time I dissimulated as well as I could. “Sir,” I said, “I am a boy who does not trouble much about eating, blessed be God! So that I am able to receive praise among all my equals, as the one who has the most moderate appetite, and for this I have even been praised, up to this time, by my former masters.” “This is a virtue,” he replied, “and for this I like you better. Gluttony is for pigs and to eat with moderation for respectable people.” “Well do I understand you,” said I to myself, “and cursed be such medicine, and such kindness as I have had from my masters, who give me nothing but starvation.” [Sidenote: The esquire and Lazaro sup on the boy’s three pieces of bread.]