It was at Madrid one fine afternoon in the beginning of March 1838, that, as I was sitting behind my table in a cabinete, as it is called, of the third floor of No. 16, in the Calle de Santiágo, having just taken my meal, my hostess entered and informed me that a military officer wished to speak to me, adding, in an undertone, that he looked a _strange guest_. I was acquainted with no military officer in the Spanish service; but as at that time I expected daily to be arrested for having distributed the Bible, I thought that very possibly this officer might have been sent to perform that piece of duty. I instantly ordered him to be admitted, whereupon a thin active figure, somewhat above the middle height, dressed in a blue uniform, with a long sword hanging at his side, tripped into the room. Depositing his regimental hat on the ground, he drew a chair to the table, and seating himself, placed his elbows on the board, and supporting his face with his hands, confronted me, gazing steadfastly upon me, without uttering a word. I looked no less wistfully at him, and was of the same opinion as my hostess, as to the strangeness of my guest. He was about fifty, with thin flaxen hair covering the sides of his head, which at the top was entirely bald. His eyes were small, and, like ferrets’, red and fiery. His complexion like a brick, a dull red, checkered with spots of purple. ‘May I inquire your name and business, sir?’ I at length demanded. _Stranger_.—‘My name is Chaléco of Valdepeñas; in the time of the French I served as bragante, fighting for Ferdinand VII. I am now a captain on half-pay in the service of Donna Isabel; as for my business here, it is to speak with you. Do you know this book?’ _Myself_.—‘This book is Saint Luke’s Gospel in the Gypsy language; how can this book concern you?’ _Stranger_.—‘No one more. It is in the language of my people.’ _Myself_.—‘You do not pretend to say that you are a Caló?’ _Stranger_.—‘I do! I am Zíncalo, by the mother’s side. My father, it is true, was one of the Busné; but I glory in being a Caló, and care not to acknowledge other blood.’ _Myself_.—‘How became you possessed of that book?’ _Stranger_.—‘I was this morning in the Prado, where I met two women of our people, and amongst other things they told me that they had a gabicóte in our language. I did not believe them at first, but they pulled it out, and I found their words true. They then spoke to me of yourself, and told me where you live, so I took the book from them and am come to see you.’ _Myself_.—‘Are you able to understand this book?’ _Stranger_.—‘Perfectly, though it is written in very crabbed language: {235} but I learnt to read Caló when very young. My mother was a good Calli, and early taught me both to speak and read it. She too had a gabicóte, but not printed like this, and it treated of a different matter.’ _Myself_.—‘How came your mother, being a good Calli, to marry one of a different blood?’