No, senor, give the devil his due, but a glass now, and another presently, and a third if a friend comes to see him, must obfuscate him.

It is a habit he brought with him from Andalusia, where he was bishop before coming here.

But nothing common, a fine and refreshing drink, only to keep up his strength, nothing more.

And the wine is first class, uncle; I know it from one of his household.

He gives as much as fifty duros the arroba![1] They keep him the best in all la Mancha, a vintage from the time of the French, a syrup that warms the stomach and tempers it as though it were an organ.