Sal a del hospital de la Resurrecci n, que est en Valladolid fuera de la puerta del Campo, un soldado que por servirle su espada de b culo y por la flaqueza de sus piernas y amarillez de su rostro mostra ba bien claro que aunque no era el tiempo muy caluroso deb a de haber sudado en veinte d as todo el humor que quiz granje en una hora. Iba haciendo pinitos y dando traspi s como convaleciente, y al entrar por la puerta de la ciudad vio que hacia l ven a un su amigo a quien no hab a visto en m s de seis meses, el cual, santigu ndose como si viera alguna mala visi n, lle g ndose a l le dijo... From the Hospital of the Resurrection, which stands just beyond the Puerta del Campo, in Valladolid, there issued one day a soldier, who, by the excessive paleness of his countenance, and the weakness of his limbs, which obliged him to, lean upon his sword, showed clearly to all who set eyes on him that, though the weather was not very warm, he must have sweated a good deal in the last few weeks. He had scarcely entered the gate of the city, with tottering steps, when he was accosted by an old friend who had not seen him for the last six months, and who approached the invalid, making signs of the cross as if he had seen a ghost. "What; is all this?" he cried; "do I, indeed, behold the Se or Alferez Campuzano? Is it possible that I really see you in this country? Why, I thought you were in Flanders trailing a pike, instead of hobbling along with your sword for a walking-stick. How pale-how emaciated you look "