Sergy took me after dinner to see the dances of the “Gitanas” in a more than dubious-looking tavern, where the male audience consisted of individuals belonging to the “Fra Diavolo type,” whom one would not care to meet at night turning the corner of a street. Four Andalusian gitanas and two guitarists, with red kerchiefs wrapped round their heads, and the _navaja_ (knife) stuck in their belt, composed the troop. The gitanas, arrayed in scarlet frocks and different coloured shawls, with the traditional red flower stuck just over the ear, and huge gold ear-rings, bounced about to the sound of the guitars and the clinking of castanets, occasionally indulging in a sudden shrill shout, whilst the audience clapped their hands in tune. After that the gitanas went round for collections and came and sat at the guest’s tables to be regaled with molluscs and snails, which they swallowed uncooked. A fat and rather unattractive terpsichore seated herself at the table next to ours, and cast alluring glances on the male audience, but lost her time in vain, for nobody paid attention to her. My neighbour, who with his savage-looking beard resembled a highwayman, offered me a cigarette and wanted me to taste some of those horrid molluscs, and was extremely astonished at my refusal. CHAPTER XLIV BARCELONA The following morning we took the train back to France, and shared our compartment with a pretty young woman from Seville and her two children, a fat-cheeked baby, who filled our car with its waitings, and a little girl holding a big doll in her arms, whom her mother stuffed with cakes to make her keep quiet. Both delightful children responded to her coaxings with piercing shrieks. Such a journey was not one to put you into good spirits! We arrived towards evening at Barcelona and put up for the night at the “Hôtel des quatre Nations,” situated on the “Rambla,” the finest and gayest street of Barcelona. This town can easily rival Madrid. The streets are broad and beautifully lighted with electricity and the shops are splendid. Feeling too tired to appear at table-d’hôte, I went immediately to bed, whilst Sergy made gastronomic purchases at the nearest grocery-shop. He came home laden with parcels, having converted himself into a temporary hanging-stand; from every part of him suspended a loose parcel containing butter, cheese, sausages, etc., and under his arm he brought bravely a bottle of Malaga wine, which he added to his stock in order not to be taken by the shopman for a famished wretch.