Doubtless they were mother and son, but I know no more about
them.
On the morrow I buried Andres de Fonseca, but with no pomp, for he had
said that he wished as little money as possible spent upon his dead
body, and returned to the house to meet the notaries. Then the seals
were broken and the parchments read and I was put in full possession of
the dead man's wealth, and having deducted such sums as were payable for
dues, legacies, and fees, the notaries left me bowing humbly, for was I
not rich? Yes, I was rich, wealth had come to me without effort, and
I had reason to desire it, yet this was the saddest night that I had
passed since I set foot in Spain, for my mind was filled with doubts and
sorrow, and moreover my loneliness got a hold of me. But sad as it might
be, it was destined to seem yet more sorrowful before the morning. For
as I sat making pretence to eat, a servant came to me saying that a
woman waited in the outer room who had asked to see his late master.
Guessing that this was some client who had not heard of Fonseca's death
I was about to order that she should be dismissed, then bethought me
that I might be of service to her or at the least forget some of my own
trouble in listening to hers. So I bade him bring her in. Presently she
came, a tall woman wrapped in a dark cloak that hid her face. I bowed
and motioned to her to be seated, when suddenly she started and spoke.
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