“Is the Señorito Narcisso within?” I inquired.
The man answered in the affirmative.
“Tell him a friend wishes to speak with him.”
After a moment’s hesitation the porter dragged himself lazily up the stone steps. In a few seconds the boy—a fine, bold-looking lad, whom I had seen during our trial—came leaping down. He started on recognising me.
“Hush!” I whispered, making signs to him to be silent. “Take leave of your friends, and meet me in ten minutes behind the church of La Magdalena.”
“Why, Señor,” inquired the boy without listening, “how have you got out of prison? I have just been to the governor on your behalf, and—.”
“No matter how,” I replied, interrupting him; “follow my directions—remember your mother and sisters are suffering.”
“I shall come,” said the boy resolutely.
“Hasta luego!” (Lose no time then). “Adios!”
We parted without another word. I rejoined Raoul, and we walked on towards La Magdalena. We passed through the street where we had been captured on the preceding night, but it was so altered that we should not have known it. Fragments of walls were thrown across the path, and here and there lay masses of bricks and mortar freshly torn down.