I should seek an interview with the noble youth; make known who it was he had befriended; and ask if there was any way in which I could reciprocate his generosity? My heart was overflowing towards Francisco Moreno! As he had been the cause of my late misery, I now looked upon him as the instrument of my regeneration. "Oh! I shall make an ample return to him! But what is it to be?" Just as I gave thought to the interrogatory, a harsh sound struck upon my ears--as if some one, suddenly stopped in the street, had uttered a cry of mixed anger and surprise. It was followed by the words: "_Que cosa caballeros? Que cosa comigo_?" (What is it, gentlemen? What do you want with me?) "_Vuestra bolsa, senor; nada mas_" (Your purse, sir; nothing more.) "_Carrambo_! A modest demand! For all that, I'm not inclined to comply with it. You may have my purse; but not till after you've taken my life. Out of the way, scoundrels! Let me pass!" "Upon him, _camarados_! He is loaded with doblones. _Al tierra_! Down with him!" These words--not very loudly spoken--were succeeded by the sounds of a struggle, in which several men appeared to take part; five or six, as I could tell by the shuffling of their shoes upon the flagged pavement. I no longer heard words; or only a few, that seemed spoken under restraint, and scarce louder than whispers! Even he who had first called out appeared to have become suddenly silent! For all that the struggle was continuing! The street in which it was taking place was a sort of narrow passage-- leading from one of the main thoroughfares towards the Piazza Grande-- and not far from the entrance to the Calle del Obispo. It was dimly illumined by a solitary lard lamp, whose feeble flickering only served to make the path more uncertain. I had myself entered the lane--which chanced to be a near cut between the cafe to which I was returning, and the "calle" I had left behind. It was just as I had got into it that the cry fell upon my ears, followed by the challenge "_Que cosa caballeros_?" The rest of the dialogue did not occupy ten seconds of time, before the conflict commenced; and, as the scene of strife was not more than ten paces from where I had paused, another half-score of seconds carried me up to the spot. I had been thus prompt in rushing to the rescue, because I fancied that I knew the voice of the man who was being assaulted. I was right. It was Francisco Moreno! I found him in the midst of five men, forming a sort of quincunx around him; against all five of whom he was industriously defending himself; while they were as busy in the endeavour to get him down. They were all armed with _machetes_; while he wielded a sword, which he had drawn from under his cloak. I could see that the attacking party carried pistols, but did not attempt to use them--perhaps from fear of causing an alarm, and thus defeating their purpose: to all appearance plunder!