After forty minutes of this, during which I kept one eye on the wicker container but was unable to divert the conversation to it, we said, “_Hasta la vista_,” and bowed our way out. A week later Portet and I, following the lodestone of my particular basket, sought the shop once more. Relations had now been established, and we were entitled to ask about it. But we still could not demand outright, “How much does it cost?” We must say, “This basket must be worth so and so,” making the figure higher than it should be. “Oh, no, no, no, no!” the proprietor protested. “It is not worth that. My humble hands fashioned it. It is hardly worth anything.” He endeavored to make me accept it for nothing. I had to refuse and once more try to make him take more than its value. Never was there such a juggling before we finally arrived at the exact amount of pesetas. On my departure from the country I had to break through a similar punctilio. I spent about seven weeks in Barcelona and was never presented with a hotel bill—none for lodging, for laundry, for meals, or for extras such as coffee. The day was coming when I must go back to France, and I did not want too much Spanish money with me—just enough to take me to the border. From there I had already purchased my tickets for England. Each time I mentioned _cuenta_ to the proprietor, bowing and turning up his palms he answered, “Sí, Sí, Señora,” until finally, on my last morning, I marched resolutely up to the desk and said, “I shall miss my train if I have to go to the American Express to get more money. You really must tell me how much I owe.” He went upstairs. I waited. Finally he descended, his hair standing on end. He threw the reckoning down on the table with a most vindictive look. I glanced at it. The total was very low; it could barely have covered the cost of the food. “I have been humiliated!” he exclaimed dramatically. “Whatever is the matter?” I questioned. “We are living in the most hellish country on earth!” “Why, what’s happened?” “A lady comes all the way from North America. She visits us, she stays here, we like her, and I must present her with this sordid bill!” Some day when the fighting is over I shall return again to Spain. _Chapter Fourteen_ O, TO BE IN ENGLAND