"No, man, not enter. Listen, I will tell you. You arrive at the Plaza de San Felipe where the tower is. Look yonder! Do you see there near the great pile there is another tower, a little belfry? It seems like an acolyte before his lord the canon, which is the great tower." "Yes, now I see the altar-boy. And if I am not mistaken, it is the belfry of San Felipe. And the damned thing is ringing this minute!" "For mass, it is ringing for mass," said Augustine, with great emotion. "Do you not hear the cracked bell?" "Very plainly. Let us know what I have to say to this Mr. Altar-boy who is ringing the cracked bell." "No, no, it is nothing about him. You arrive at the Plaza of San Felipe. If you look at the belfry, you will see it is on a corner, and from this corner runs a narrow street. You enter there, and at the left you will find at a little distance another street, narrow and retired, called Anton Trillo. You follow this until you reach the back of the church. There you will see a house. You stop there--" "And then I come back again?" "No; close to the house there is a garden, with a little gateway painted the color of chocolate. You stop there." "There I stop, and there I am!" "No, old man. You will see--" "You're whiter than your shirt, my Augustine. What do all these towers and stoppages signify?" "They mean," continued my friend, with increasing embarrassment, "that in a little while you will be there. I desire you to go by night. All right, you arrive there. You stop. You wait a little, then you pass to the opposite sidewalk. You stretch your neck, and you will see a window over the wall of a garden. You pick up a pebble and throw it against the panes of glass lightly, to do little damage." "And in a second she will come!" "No; have patience. How do you know whether she will come or not come?" "Well, let us suppose that she comes." "Before I tell you another thing, you must understand that it is there the goodman Candiola lives. Do you know who Candiola is? Well, he is a citizen of Saragossa, a man who, as they say, has in his house a cellar full of money. He is avaricious and a usurer, and when he lends he guts his customers. He knows more about debtors, laws, and foreclosures than the whole court and council of Castile. Whoever goes to law with him is lost." "From all this, the house with a gate painted chocolate color should be a magnificent palace." "Nothing of the sort. You will see a wretched-looking house that seems about to fall down. I tell you that that goodman Candiola is a miser. He does not waste a real that he can help. And if you should see him about here you would give him alms. I will tell you another thing; he is never seen in Saragossa, and they call him goodman Candiola in mockery and contempt. His name is Don Jeronimo de Candiola; he is a native of Mallorca, if I am not mistaken." "And this Candiola has a daughter?"