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Don Felipe then took Diego to a library, large for those days. It was lighted with lamps hung from the ceiling.

“Here,” said Don Felipe, handing Diego a small manuscript volume of verse, “are the works of your Italian poet, Petrarca. I know you know Italian better than Spanish.”

“Yes,” replied Diego, seizing the little book. “Just as you know Spanish better than Italian—because it is your native tongue.”

Don Felipe went off, leaving Diego in the dim library. Diego looked about him in delight. Never had he seen so many books together in his life.

He began to read the volume of poems and grew so absorbed that he did not hear Don Felipe open the door, and only knew of his presence when Don Felipe, slapping him on the shoulder, cried:

“Come out of the clouds, Diego! My mother wishes to speak with you. She has something to tell us both.”

Diego went willingly enough. In a small, high-ceiled room close by was Doña Christina with Doña Luisita and Señora Julia.

“I hope you will be happy while you are here,” said Doña Christina to Diego. “I have talked with the Admiral, your father, and he tells me that he must depart to-morrow to seek the King and the Queen at Santa Fé. After considering it, as I shall not be obliged to attend the Queen for a month, the Admiral and I have agreed that it is better for you and Don Felipe to remain here with me during that month. Then we can travel to Santa Fé together.”