So I said to this lad, ‘Stay at home, my child, till your brother comes to take your place and prevent our bread being eaten by strangers, who would perhaps sell me and betray me;’ so my son staid at home, as you see, _Don Jorge_, at my request, and yet they call me a Carlist!” “Gomez and his bands have lately been in Cordova,” {232} said I; “of course you were present at all that occurred: how did they comport themselves?” “Bravely well,” replied the innkeeper, “bravely well, and I wish they were here still. I hold with neither side, as I told you before, _Don Jorge_, but I confess I never felt greater pleasure in my life than when they entered the gate. And then to see the dogs of nationals flying through the streets to save their lives—that was a sight, _Don Jorge_. Those who met me then at the corner forgot to shout, ‘_Hola_! _Carlista_!’ and I heard not a word about cudgelling. Some jumped from the wall and ran no one knows where, whilst the rest retired to the house of the Inquisition, which they had fortified, and there they shut themselves up. Now you must know, _Don Jorge_, that all the Carlist chiefs lodged at my house—Gomez, Cabrera, and the Sawyer; and it chanced that I was talking to my Lord Gomez in this very room in which we are now, when in came Cabrera in a mighty fury—he is a small man, _Don Jorge_, but he is as active as a wild cat and as fierce. ‘The _canaille_,’ said he, ‘in the _Casa_ of the Inquisition refuse to surrender; give but the order, general, and I will scale the walls with my men, and put them all to the sword.’ But Gomez said, ‘No, we must not spill blood if we can avoid it. Order a few muskets to be fired at them; that will be sufficient!’ And so it proved, _Don Jorge_, for after a few discharges their hearts failed them, and they surrendered at discretion: whereupon their arms were taken from them, and they were permitted to return to their own houses. But as soon as ever the Carlists departed, these fellows became as bold as ever, and it is now once more, ‘_Hola_! _Carlista_!’ when they see me turning the corner; and it is for fear of them that my son must run like a partridge to his own home, now that he has done waiting on your worship, lest they meet him in the street, and kill him with their knives!” “You tell me that you were acquainted with Gomez: what kind of man might he be?”