It was a time to make plans. The country of romance was far away and they were without horses. "Will you buy horses, master?" said Morano. "We might not get them over the Pyrenees," said Rodriguez, though he had a better reason, which was that three gold pieces did not buy two saddled horses. There were no more friends to hire from. Morano grew thoughtful. He sat with his feet dangling over the bank of the Ebro. "Master," he said after a while, "this river goes our way. Let us come by boat, master, and drift down to France at our ease." To get a river over a range of mountains is harder than to get horses. Some such difficulty Rodriguez implied to him; but Morano, having come slowly by an idea, parted not so easily with it. "It goes our way, master," he repeated, and pointed a finger at the Ebro. At this moment a certain song that boatmen sing on that river, when the current is with them and they have nothing to do but be idle and their lazy thoughts run to lascivious things, came to the ears of Rodriguez and Morano; and a man with a bright blue sash steered down the Ebro. He had been fishing and was returning home. "Master," Morano said, "that knave shall row us there." Rodriguez seeing that the idea was fixed in Morano's mind determined that events would move it sooner than argument, and so made no reply. "Shall I tell him, master?" asked Morano. "Yes," said Rodriguez, "if he can row us over the Pyrenees." This was the permission that Morano sought, and a hideous yell broke from his throat hailing the boatman. The boatman looked up lazily, a young man with strong brown arms, turning black moustaches towards Morano. Again Morano hailed him and ran along the bank, while the boat drifted down and the boatman steered in towards Morano. Somehow Morano persuaded him to come in to see what he wanted; and in a creek he ran his boat aground, and there he and Morano argued and bargained. But Rodriguez remained where he was, wondering why it took so long to turn his servant's mind from that curious fancy. At last Morano returned. "Well?" said Rodriguez. "Master," said Morano, "he will row us to the Pyrenees." "The Pyrenees!" said Rodriguez. "The Ebro runs into the sea." For they had taught him this at the college of San Josephus. "He will row us there," said Morano, "for a gold piece a day, rowing five hours each day." Now between them they had but four gold pieces; but that did not make the Ebro run northward. It seemed that the Ebro, after going their way, as Morano had said, for twenty or thirty miles, was joined by the river Segre, and that where the Ebro left them, turning eastwards, the course of the Segre took them on their way: but it would be rowing against the current. "How far is it?" said Rodriguez. "A hundred miles, he says," answered Morano. "He knows it well."