As if to bring us back to a feeling of reality, one evening, as we were returning to the _Calle de la Sierpe_, where our host, Don Cæsar Bustamente, whose wife had the most beautiful eyes and the longest hair in the world, resided, we were accosted by some fellows very well dressed, with eye-glasses and watch-chains, who asked us to come and rest ourselves and take some refreshment at the house of some persons _muy finas_, _muy decentes_, who had deputed them to invite us. These worthy individuals seemed, at first, very much struck at our refusing, and, imagining that we had not understood them, entered more explicitly into details; but, seeing that they were merely losing their time, they contented themselves with offering us cigarettes and Murillos,--for, you must know, Murillo is the pride and also the curse of Seville. You hear nothing but this one name. The smallest tradesman, the most insignificant abbé, possesses, at least, three hundred specimens of Murillo in his best days. What is that daub there? It is a Murillo, vapoury style. And that one. A Murillo, warm style. And the third, yonder? A Murillo, cold style. Like Raphael, Murillo has three styles; a fact which allows of all kinds of pictures being attributed to him, and gives a most delicious scope to amateurs desirous of forming collections. At the corner of every street, you run against the angle of a picture-frame: it is a Murillo worth thirty francs which some Englishman always buys for thirty thousand. "Look, _Señor Caballero_, what drawing! what colouring! It is the very _perla_, the _perlita_ of pictures!" How many pearls, not worth the frames and the ornaments, were shown to me! How many originals that were not even copies! This does not, however, prevent Murillo from being one of the first painters in Spain, and in the whole world. But we have wandered rather far from the banks of the Guadalquiver; let us return to them.