In those days there was in this Majaderitos street a hostelry, the resort of all gay young people, and more frequented by night than by day, as a general thing. The doors were always locked at the hour prescribed by law, but would be opened for every customer, and at all hours of the day and night one could find there good eating and still better wines, while as the house had many large apartments and small rooms, and as the hotelkeeper and all the attendants were accommodating, wise, and discreet, those who honored the house at any time that was convenient found there independence, freedom, and forgetfulness of their troubles. The muffled wanderer stopped at this inn and called. A small window opened immediately, and a voice asked, “Who is there?” “A very good friend.” Apparently this was the countersign, for the door opened, and the visitor met a man who greeted him with, “God protect you, Señor Alonso.” “Are there many people here?” “Nobody at all.” “Then there will be no noise.” “Are you alone?” “Can’t you see that I am?” “The whole house is at your disposal.” “Put me wherever you please.—Here,” said Señor Alonso, entering a room whose only furniture was a large table, “and give me whatever you like for supper, but the best wine that you have, for I have something important to talk to you about, and I want to get my head clear.” “Would you like a piece of loin with gravy, and a slice of roast lamb?” “Yes.” The innkeeper went out, and Señor Alonso, taking off his coat, sat down at the table with the lamplight full in his face. He was, as we have already said, tall and spare, and we will now add that he was about thirty, was well dressed, and that there was nothing extraordinary in his manners except, perhaps, the keen glance of his small round gray eyes. His movements were energetic, and he seemed endowed with a great deal of muscular force. The length of his arm would have made him a dangerous opponent with a sword in his hand, if he had known how to use it. While the keeper was away someone else knocked at the door, and a few minutes later, another person entered the room. There was no reason why he should not stay, and so he stayed. Giving a “Good evening” to Señor Alonso, and taking off his coat, he also sat down, at the other end of the table, saying to the landlord, “I leave the supper to your discretion, but the wine—” “Shall be an old one and pure, Señor Hidalgo.” “That is the kind I want.” This second person was the one who had been following the first. He looked about twenty-five and his face was aquiline, swarthy and bilious, with a clear forehead, black hair, wide black eyes with long lashes, and a glance fiery and expressive, sometimes penetrating, sometimes melancholy. He showed much intelligence, not a little cunning, valor, and courage. While taking his seat he glanced at Señor Alonso, who was also watching him, and both frowned slightly.