At the very least, she must be a Marchioness.

His godfather certainly deserved that much! And he also imagined to himself that their rendezvous must be in the morning, in one of the strawberry gardens near the city, where his parents were accustomed to take him for his breakfast chocolate after hearing the first dawn service on the Sundays of April and May.
Much later, when seated at his godfather's table, he surprised the poet exchanging glances over his head with the housekeeper, and began to suspect that possibly Dona Pepa might be the inspiration of so much lachrymose and enthusiastic verse.

But his great loyalty rebelled before such a supposition.

No, no, it could not be possible; assuredly there must be another! The notary, who for long years had been friendly with Labarta, kept trying to direct him with his practical spirit, like the boy who guides a blind man.

A modest income inherited from his parents was enough for the poet to live upon.