It was bitter indeed to have been so near to vengeance and to have missed it.
By now I was at home and bethought me that I should do well to go to Fonseca, my master, and ask his help.

Hitherto I had said nothing of this matter to him, for I have always loved to keep my own counsel, and as yet I had not spoken of my past even to him.

Going to the room where he was accustomed to receive patients, I found he had retired to rest, leaving orders that I was not to awake him this night as he was weary.
So I bound up my hurt after a fashion and sought my bed also, very ill-satisfied with my fortune.
On the morrow I went to my master's chamber where he still lay abed, having been seized by a sudden weakness that was the beginning of the illness which ended in his death.

As I mixed a draught for him he noticed that my shoulder was hurt and asked me what had happened.

This gave me my opportunity, which I was not slow to take.
'Have you patience to listen to a story ?' I said, 'for I would seek your help.' 'Ah!' he answered, 'it is the old case, the physician cannot heal himself.