“Roll up our clothes and hide them in a corner of the arbor,” whispered Raquel. While he was doing this she bathed, powdered her face, touched her cheeks with the rouge, her mouth with the red stick lying there. On the bed lay a black lace scarf which she seized. But what could she do with bobbed hair in this land of long-haired Señoritas? It would never escape notice. Peeping cautiously into a drawer for hairpins she came across a carved high comb. A little deft work with comb and brush, a thrust of stout hairpins to fix the comb in the tangle of her back hair--there! It was ready to drape the black lace scarf about her face. The effect was magical. The wavery little mirror gave back above a tiny rose bodice and billowing organdie skirts, a lovely face, rare, piquant, like the grandmother of old. In the closet was a pair of slippers, shiny and tiny. But they slipped on. “Must have been too large or too small for the happy child they belong to,” surmised Raquel. She hoped that the owner of the clothes would not catch a glimpse of her. She felt as if she were dressed for a fancy dress party with these full skirts, for at home, she remembered the narrow slit skirt was the fashion. “You look like a princess.” Georgie was watching the finishing touches. But there was no time to lose and she began to search desperately for something for Georgie to wear. There was not a thing but a little old gingham dress, such as any little kitchen helper might put on. So Georgie was squeezed into that, and with a mantilla clutched under his chin he made a typical little _muchacha_. They stepped bravely out through the door, looking for the best way to escape. There was a large closed gate at the back of the patio. It led into still another court, and outside that was the open. But they could not get away without their horses and how to get into the corrals again? Although there was no outside gate in the corral where they had been obliged to stable their horses, the corral opened into several other yards. “Perhaps we could make a break through in front if we can get back through that window,” Raquel suggested. It had taken them more than half an hour to dress as girls. Perhaps the same soldado would no longer be there in the corral. They slipped across the court yard, into the first room they had entered. The window was barred, from the outside! All Spanish houses are built on very nearly the same design; realizing this, they crept out on tiptoe and went forward to try the windows of the next room. They were open, but barred with iron, for this was an establishment of some pretension. As they stepped again into the patio they stood for a moment in the stream of light from a doorway into the _sala de baile_, the dance hall. A figure lounging there glanced over its shoulder just in time. He darted out and made a low bow before Raquel, laying at the same time a detaining hand on her arm.