It was blackest night when we arrived at the foot of the mountains; we were still, however, amidst woods and pine forests, which extended for leagues in every direction. “We shall scarcely reach Segovia to-night, _mon maître_,” said Antonio. And so indeed it proved, for we became bewildered, and at last arrived where two roads branched off in different directions: we took not the left-hand road, which would have conducted us to Segovia, but turned to the right, in the direction of La Granja, where we arrived at midnight. We found the desolation of La Granja {208} far greater than that of Aranjuez; both had suffered from the absence of royalty, but the former to a degree which was truly appalling. Nine-tenths of the inhabitants had left this place, which, until the late military revolution, had been the favourite residence of Christina. So great is the solitude of La Granja, that wild boars from the neighbouring forests, and especially from the beautiful pine-covered mountain which rises like a cone directly behind the palace, frequently find their way into the streets and squares, and whet their tusks against the pillars of the porticos. “Ride on, because of the word of righteousness.” After a stay of twenty-four hours at La Granja, we proceeded to Segovia. The day had arrived on which I had appointed to meet Lopez. I repaired to the aqueduct, and sat down beneath the hundred and seventh arch, where I waited the greater part of the day, but he came not, whereupon I arose and went into the city. At Segovia I tarried two days in the house of a friend; still I could hear nothing of Lopez. At last, by the greatest chance in the world, I heard from a peasant that there were men in the neighbourhood of Abades selling books.