Although no one came out of the inn to receive me and a great air of desolation was upon everything, I led Babieca within the hovel and contrived to find him a place in which he might repose. After much groping in the starlight--other light there was none--which came through the holes in the mud walls I was able to scrape enough straw together to form his bed. Also I was able to find him a supper of rough fare. And in so doing I observed that this poor place was in the occupation of a horse of a singular appearance. As well as I could learn in the darkness this was a very tall, large-boned, and handsome beast, sleek and highly fed. Near to it, hanging upon a nail in the wall, was a saddle so massive of artifice and so rarely bedizened as to indicate that both this piece of furniture and the beast that bore it were in such a degree above the common sort as doubtless to be the property of a lord. And this conclusion pleased me very well; for I was glad to believe that one of his condition had lent his presence to this mean place, because there is no need to tell you, gentle reader, a man of birth needs one of a similar quality with whom to beguile his leisure. As I issued, however, from the stable and made to enter the inn I was stayed at the door by a dismal rustic who proved to be the landlord. His bearing was of such singular dejection and in his countenance was such sore embarrassment as to make it clear that either a grievous calamity had lately befallen him or that one was about to do so. “I give you good evening, honest fellow. Have you seen a ghost?” The dismal wight placed a finger to his lip. “Hush, sir! hush, I pray you!” he whispered hoarsely. “Nay, my good fellow, I hush for no man--that is, unless you have a corpse in the house.” “I have worse than a corpse in the house,” said the innkeeper, crossing himself. “Worse than a corpse?” “Yes, kind gentleman, a thousand times worse! How shall I speak it? I have the Devil.” The innkeeper made a piteous groan. “I can hardly believe that,” said I. “He is not often seen in Spain nowadays.” “Yes, it’s the Devil right enough,” said the innkeeper, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jerkin. “I am a ruined man.” “How does he seem in appearance? Are there horns on his head and does fire proceed out of his mouth?” “He has an eye,” said the innkeeper. In spite of my incredulity I could not help shivering a little. “The evil eye, your worship, the mal d’ojo. And he is so enormous! When he rises from his stool his head goes into the roof.” “Peace, honest fellow,” I said stoutly. “The age of monsters is overpast.” “Ojala!” wailed the innkeeper, “your worship is in the wrong entirely. You can form no conception of what a fiend is this.” “There have been no monsters in Spain since the time of the Cid,” said I, placing my hand on my sword.