As we pursued our way towards the capital of the King’s dominion, a profound silence overtook the Englishman. His dark and lowering looks were the palpable fruit of a former bitterness; and as we came into Madrid at nightfall, the numerous soldiers we passed in the streets wearing the Castilian’s livery seemed to inflame his humour. Indeed, as we entered the first venta we came to within the gates of the city, and as we were disposing of our horses in comfort for the night, he was moved to say that “if his humour did not lift after supper, he was minded to go out in the streets and cut a few throats, as the sight of so many jackbooted rascals twirling their moustachios was as sore to him as the presence of holy water was to the Author of Deceit.” The stabling of this venta was divided from the great kitchen of the inn by a short arched passage-way. Upon crossing this we found to our good pleasure that the hearth was entirely at our disposal, as there was no other company in the inn. Over the fire was suspended a cauldron, and this we regarded with favour. After we had supped worthily, we prepared ourselves for the repose we so much desired; but it was written that there should be no sleep for us that night. Scarce had we disposed ourselves about the chimney-place for the slumber for which we yearned, when the first of the passages that were to ensue came upon us. A number of soldiers wearing the livery of the King came into the inn kitchen, bawling for wine and victual. These men, in their high boots and long cloaks and great hats, and with their long moustachios, were extremely formidable to look upon; and the Count of Nullepart and myself, conscious as we were of the strange mood of our companion, no sooner beheld these fellows than we regretted their intrusion exceedingly. Sir Richard Pendragon, as became an old campaigner, had his eyes already sealed in slumber, and was beginning to snore loudly as he reclined with his enormous legs stretched out to the hearth, when these soldiers entered so unseasonably. As they came swaggering up to the cooking-pot, abusing the landlord loudly that no food was ready, one of them had the misfortune to trip over the Englishman’s far-extended limbs. As he measured his length he swore a horrid oath in rude Spanish. The Englishman gave a grunt and opened his eyes sleepily, and seeing the soldier sprawling on all fours, he said to the innkeeper, who was about to add a fowl to the pot, “Landlord, ye should not admit bears and dromedaries and beasts with four feet among the nobility. The nobility do not like it.” The Englishman’s insolent tone was heard by the comrades of the fallen one, who numbered eight or nine. They looked at him as though they could not believe what their ears had told them, and then their hands flew to the hilts of their swords. By this, however, the fallen one had risen to his feet. He pulled his moustachios and rolled his eyes with fury.