It was night when he entered the gates, and the fifteen days allotted were not up till the next day.His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his body ached with the long strain, but, without pausing to rest, he kindled a fire on is hearth, and quickly filling a pot with water, threw in the herbs and left them to boil.After that he lay down and slept soundly.
The sun was shining when he awoke, and he jumped up and ran to the pot.
The plant had disappeared and in its stead was a thick syrup, just as the book had said there would be.He lifted the syrup out with a spoon, and after spreading it in the sun till it was partly dry, poured it into a small flask of crystal.He next washed himself thoroughly, and dressed himself, in his best clothes, and putting the flask in his pocket, set out for the palace, and begged to see the king without delay.
Now Balancin, whose foot had been much less painful since Gilguerillo had wrapped it in the plaster, was counting the days to the young man's return; and when he was told Gilguerillo was there, ordered him to be admitted at once.As he entered, the king raised himself eagerly on his pillows, but his face fell when he saw no signs of a slipper.
'You have failed, then?' he said, throwing up his hands in despair.
'I hope not, your majesty; I think not,' answered the youth.And drawing the flask from his pocket, he poured two or three drops on the wound.
'Repeat this for three nights, and you will find yourself cured,' said he.And before the king had time to thank him he had bowed himself out.
Of course the news soon spread through the city, and men and women never tired of calling Gilguerillo an impostor, and prophesying that the end of the three days would see him in prison, if not on the scaffold.But Gilguerillo paid no heed to their hard words, and no more did the king, who took care that no hand but his own should put on the healing balsam.