There was no response; but on Fabrique stirring again, the señora fairly sprang in terror from her bed. Fabrique dared not breathe, but with one hand on his stiletto and the other on his lips, he lay still as death. The lady now obtained a glimpse of his foot. and uttering one of those shrill cries, which most women can utter at any time, she rushed from the chamber to seek her husband; but first she took the precaution of double-locking the door.
Finding himself discovered, and aware that all was over now, Fabrique hastened to escape by his place of entrance, the window. Alas! it was now secured by a shutter crossed by iron bars on the outside, and these resisted all his efforts. There was no chimney; again he rushed to the door. It was firm—fast as a rock, and he might as well have rushed against the stone wall. He heard the clank of feet and of halberts as the hastily-summoned alguazils came into the room below; true, he had his dagger; but what would that avail him against so many? The perspiration burst over his brow and he cursed the avarice which brought him on such errand unassisted by that faithful and determined band he was about to leave for ever.
Fertile in expedients, he at last thought of one.
He threw off all his clothes and popped into the bed of the señor alcalde, and scarcely had he tucked himself cosily in when the door was burst open, and in marched the portly patron, his eyes dilated with vengeance, and his paunch swollen with official dignity and purple valdepenas, while the grim alguazils with pointed halberts and cocked trabujas came behind, and with them was the terrified lady in her night-dress, holding a candle in one trembling hand, her rosary and a case of reliques in the other.
Fabrique gazed at them with well-feigned surprise, which was reflected in the faces of all on beholding the place of his retreat, though it soon turned to resentment in the wife of the alcalde; her eyes flashed; her plump cheeks and bosom became crimson with anger.
"How now, señor raterillo," thundered the alcalde; "what am I to understand by all this?"
"By what, most worthy señor," whined the robber, with affected simplicity and shame.
"Why—your being here—here, señor—in the bed of the señora—in my bed?" continued the alcalde, gathering courage from the loudness of his own voice; "speak, rascal—why are you here?"
"Ask the señora, who invited me," replied Fabrique. with the coolest assurance in the world.
"Morte de Dios, what is this I hear?" muttered the overwhelmed alcalde.