"And your wife and children, and the night's shelter you offered me?"
"I forgot," replied the Zaragate, imperturbably; "I sent away my wife and children yesterday to—to Queretaro; but as for a lodging—"
"Is that at Queretaro also?" I asked Perico, discovering, when too late, that the wife and children of this honorable personage were as imaginary as his abode.
"As for shelter," added Perico, with the same impassible air, "you shall share that which I can procure for you, and which I find when my means won't admit of paying for a night's lodging, for heaven does not send us every day bull-fights and such like windfalls. Stop," said he, pointing with his finger to a glimmering light at a distance, which was reflected on the granite pavement; "that is perhaps what we are seeking for."
We advanced to the light, and soon perceived that it came from the lantern of a sereno. Wrapped in a yellow cloak almost as ragged as Perico's, the guardian of the night, squatted on the pavement, seemed to follow with his melancholy gaze the large clouds which flitted across the sky. At our approach he still kept his indolent position.
"Halloo! friend," said the Zaragate, "do you know of any velorio (wake) in this neighborhood?"
"Of course, a few cuadras from here, near the bridge of Eguizamo, you will find one; and if I did not fear some round of the Señor Regidor's, or found some good fellow to don my cloak and take care of my lantern, I would go with you to the entertainment myself."
"Much obliged," said Perico, politely; "we will profit by the information."
The sereno cast a look of astonishment at my dress, which was singularly out of keeping with Perico's.