It was answered at once by the sound of a horse spurred to a trot, and snatching up his buckler, Cristoval retreated to the parterres. He gained the shelter just as the trooper pushed open the door. He rode in and halted near the entrance; peered about in the obscurity, called twice or thrice, then rode slowly about the enclosure, looking into the darkness of the open doors. Cristoval watched him, praying that he might push on into the interior courts, or that he might dismount. In the latter event he should find what he sought with a vengeance, and that horse would change owners. But the trooper soon returned, scanning the parterres as he passed. At the entrance he halted and surveyed the place again, only half satisfied. Finally he rode out. Cristoval followed cautiously, to have a look at the street. No hope there. The soldier had taken position a few yards away, and there remained, while the prisoner returned to the fountain and had another bad quarter of an hour. There was no choice but to stay where he was and pray that the sentinels might be withdrawn at daylight, or be driven from their posts by the approaching fire. Then, provided he was not roasted to death in the meantime, he might escape. He sat through the night, going at intervals to the doors in faint hope, returning with disquietude more profound, to watch the relentless nearing of the conflagration. At last came the dawn, more depressing in its ghastly light than the night. He stretched himself beneath the shrubbery. As the morning advanced the wind veered farther to the south, and this, he hoped, would retard the progress of the fire in his direction until the evening. Cristoval was blessed with a sanguine temperament, and was, moreover, like most men who follow peril, a fatalist. Death had stood so often beside him, and had so often withheld the blow, that he had lost the appreciation of danger while he could look forward to another minute of life. Now, there were hours before him, at least, and faith that good fortune or resourcefulness would open a way of deliverance. Therefore, why not be comfortable while comforts were at hand? He remembered the spread table. He crept from concealment, went to the door for another look at the sentinels, and entered the dining-hall. He had seated himself when he perceived that the tableware was silver. He rose abruptly. "Oho! that meaneth the tenant will return, else the tenant is not a Spaniard." He selected a generous double handful of the victuals and returned to the fountain. Going to another chamber, he brought forth a rug which he deposited beneath the thickest of the shrubbery, and there made his breakfast calmly.