Don Diego
Albuquerque, his neighbor, strolls after dinner through the castle with
him:--
"In the cloister-passage, which leads to the kennels where are kept the
king's hounds, that with their growling and yelping let you know a long
way off where they are,
"There I saw, built into the wall, and with a strong iron grating for
its outer face, a cell like a cage.
"Two human figures sate therein, two young boys; chained by the leg,
they crouched in the dirty straw.
"Hardly twelve years old seemed the one, the other not much older; their
faces fair and noble, but pale and wan with sickness.
"They were all in rags, almost naked; and their lean bodies showed
wounds, the marks of ill-usage; both of them shivered with fever.
"They looked up at me out of the depth of their misery; 'Who,' I cried
in horror to Don Diego, 'are these pictures of wretchedness?'
"Don Diego seemed embarrassed; he looked round to see that no one was
listening; then he gave a deep sigh; and at last, putting on the easy
tone of a man of the world, he said:--
"'These are a pair of king's sons, who were early left orphans; the name
of their father was King Pedro, the name of their mother, Maria de
Padilla.
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