“And then,” cried Sancho, who had been listening with a greedy ear, “_se hacen ladrones legítimos_,”--and then they become legitimate robbers. I could not help laughing at Sancho’s idea of a legitimate calling of the kind; but the chief of customs told me it was really the case that the smugglers, when thus reduced to extremity, thought they had a kind of right to take the road, and lay travellers under contribution, until they had collected funds enough to mount and equip themselves in contrabandista style. Towards noon our wayfaring companion took leave of us and turned up a steep defile, followed by his escopetero; and shortly afterwards we emerged from the mountains, and entered upon the far-famed Vega of Granada. Our last mid-day’s repast was taken under a grove of olive-trees on the border of a rivulet. We were in a classical neighborhood; for not far off were the groves and orchards of the Soto de Roma. This, according to fabulous tradition, was a retreat founded by Count Julian to console his daughter Florinda. It was a rural resort of the Moorish kings of Granada; and has in modern times been granted to the Duke of Wellington. Our worthy squire made a half melancholy face as he drew forth, for the last time, the contents of his alforjas, lamenting that our expedition was drawing to a close, for, with such cavaliers, he said, he could travel to the world’s end. Our repast, however, was a gay one; made under such delightful auspices. The day was without a cloud. The heat of the sun was tempered by cool breezes from the mountains. Before us extended the glorious Vega. In the distance was romantic Granada surmounted by the ruddy towers of the Alhambra, while far above it the snowy summits of the Sierra Nevada shone like silver. Our repast finished, we spread our cloaks and took our last siesta _al fresco_, lulled by the humming of bees among the flowers and the notes of doves among the olive-trees. When the sultry hours were passed we resumed our journey. After a time we overtook a pursy little man shaped not unlike a toad and mounted on a mule. He fell into conversation with Sancho, and finding we were strangers, undertook to guide us to a good posada. He was an escribano (notary), he said, and knew the city as thoroughly as his own pocket. “Ah Dios, Señores! what a city you are going to see. Such streets! such squares! such palaces! and then the women--ah Santa Maria purísima--what women!”--“But the posada you talk of,” said I, “are you sure it is a good one?” “Good! Santa Maria! the best in Granada. Salones grandes--camas de luxo--colchones de pluma (grand saloons--luxurious sleeping-rooms--beds of down). Ah, Señores, you will fare like King Chico in the Alhambra.” “And how will my horses fare?” cried Sancho. “Like King Chico’s horses. _Chocolate con leche y bollos para almuerza_” (chocolate and milk with sugar cakes for breakfast), giving the squire a knowing wink and a leer.