"When you have finished your meal," he said, "I will lead you there and introduce you to the proprietor, an excellent fellow. But you come unluckily. To-day is market day. There are many farmers in from the country, and it is possible that you will find difficulties."
As we went out the waitress came running after us. "You have left your bread behind," she cried.
With our new friend we went off. But the posada was full for the night.
"There is another one, we will look at that," said our guide. "If the other is full also, you shall have my room, and I will find a bed somewhere until a room is free. Tomorrow the place will be emptier."
On the way to the second posada, we fell in once more with the cord porter.
"You are looking for rooms," he cried. "Why didn't you tell me before? I know of a splendid place. I will lead you there."
"Perhaps that will be better," said the man. "I do not think the other posada would really suit you. They say it is the meeting-place of loose women. You understand?"
The cord porter took us to a house outside of which were about ten hen-coops. In the midst of the coops an old woman was sitting on a low chair. She was an extraordinary shape; like a Chinese lucky image, Hotei. Her knees were perched on the rung of the chair, and so large was her stomach that it rose in front of her like a balloon, coming in its highest part well to the level of her chin. She looked dingy and unwashed, but we could not well draw back, for the cord porter had told her our needs. The obese woman stood up, balancing her fantastic stomach by a backward bend of the spine.
She had two rooms, one with a single bed, one with a couple. The single bed was small, the ceiling looked as if it were not innocent of vermin. We chose the double-bedded room after the conventional bargaining.