I followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which was ruinous and seemingly half deserted; we went up the street, from which she turned into a narrow and dark lane, and presently opened the gate of a large dilapidated house. "Come in," said she. "And the _gras_?" I demanded. "Bring the _gras_ in too, my _chabó_, bring the _gras_ in too; there is room for the _gras_ in my little stable." We entered a large court, across which we proceeded till we came to a wide doorway. "Go in, my child of Egypt," said the hag; "go in, that is my little stable." "The place is as dark as pitch," said I, "and may be a well for what I know; bring a light, or I will not enter." "Give me the _solabarri_," said the hag, "and I will lead your horse in, my _chabó_ of Egypt--yes, and tether him to my little manger." She led the horse through the doorway, and I heard her busy in the darkness; presently the horse shook himself. "_Grasti terelamos_," said the hag, who now made her appearance with the bridle in her hand; "the horse has shaken himself, he is not harmed by his day's journey; now let us go in, my Caloró, into my little room." We entered the house, and found ourselves in a vast room, which would have been quite dark but for a faint glow which appeared at the farther end: it proceeded from a _brasero_, beside which were squatted two dusky figures. "These are Callées," said the hag; "one is my daughter and the other is her _chabi_. Sit down, my London Caloró, and let us hear you speak." I looked about for a chair, but could see none: at a short distance, however, I perceived the end of a broken pillar lying on the floor; this I rolled to the _brasero_, and sat down upon it. "This is a fine house, mother of the gipsies," said I to the hag, willing to gratify the desire she had expressed of hearing me speak; "a fine house is this of yours, rather cold and damp, though; it appears large enough to be a barrack for _hundunares_." "Plenty of houses in this _foros_, plenty of houses in Merida, my London Caloró, some of them just as they were left by the Corahanós. Ah! a fine people are the Corahanós; I often wish myself in their _chim_ once more." "How is this, mother?" said I; "have you been in the land of the Moors?" "Twice have I been in their country, my Caloró--twice have I been in the land of the Corahai. The first time is more than fifty years ago; I was then with the Sesé, for my husband was a soldier of the Crallis of Spain, and Oran at that time belonged to Spain." "You were not then with the real Moors," said I, "but only with the Spaniards who occupied part of their country."