"Indeed!" said he, with wonder in his face.
"Where is his palace? We were just about to inquire the way."
"You must pass the Lonja, our famous Exchange, a triumph of the genius of Juan de Herrera—the architect of the Escurial; well, you must pass it, and cross the Plaza de Toros; but allow me to have the pleasure of escorting you."
"Many thanks."
"None are necessary, señores—hut this dispatch for the captain general—Maldito! I am bursting with irrepressible curiosity to know what it is about. Are we going to war with Russia too?"
"Then, señor," said I, "we may as well inform you that it concerns the killing of a man on board of a Spanish government guarda costa, by a chance shot from the Mole Fort at Gibraltar."
"He was in pursuit of a contrabandista, I presume?"
"Exactly so."
"Ah, those rascally contrabandistas! It is too bad of your Government to protect them—quite as bad as making war on the Chinese because they would not poison themselves with opium. I heard that some of your people had shot at a guarda costa, and killed some one on hoard. It has excited considerable animosity, and been much spoken of."
He led us through several dark and narrow streets, so narrow, indeed, that people could easily have shaken hands from the windows on each side of these quaint old Moorish thoroughfares. Issuing suddenly into the full Haze of the scorching Spanish sunshine, we found ourselves before a handsome palace decorated by Corinthian pilasters, and having its lofty windows covered by external shades of brilliant red and white striped stuff. Two sentinels of the line stood at the portal under sunshades, with their muskets "ordered;" and they stared at our uniform with black and lacklustre eyes.