A restaurant? He shook his head! A Hotel? He came from Cholula but had never heard of such a thing. Tourists brought their food with them, he made us understand. “But I will ask” and he went into the chemist shop. Surely, there was a restaurant, down the road. We tracked it down, he came with us. The street was formed by perfectly straight barefronted houses. It might have been an Irish village, but looking through doorways there seemed to be contained in it a whole world of gardens and patios. We entered one of these, as directed, and found ourselves in a clean bare yard. We went to the first door on the yard, but it was a bedroom. The second door was the restaurant, the third combined kitchen and chicken house. An old wizened, bent woman came forward to greet us, and two pretty young Indian girls. Could she give us food? She could. Soon? Immediately. What could she give us? Some _huevos_ (eggs) and some _carne_ (meat) with _potata_. Our kind cicerone then left us, excusing himself, he had business. We seated ourselves in the primitive room, which was clean and whitewashed, and floor tiled. They laid a cloth for us which was clean and still wet. We waited hardly any time at all before they served us a hot and excellent meal, the best I have had in Mexico, and for two pesos, the three of us. But the wizened old woman was much concerned that she could not talk with us. She longed, I could see, to know where we came from, and she kept asking why our Signore had gone away, and not returned! When her two habitual customers came in for their meals, she began great discussion with them about us. We were a great diversion. The men who came in were not Indians, they were sullen Mexicans. One of them talked to the little Indian serving girl as if she were a dog, ordered his food gruffly and never said thank you. Women have no position in Mexico--they are supposed to exist solely for the satisfaction of men.