All this rabble of vendors, of farmers, of women, of naked children, and of beggars; talked, shouted, laughed, gesticulated; it flowed from the Arco Alto to the Calle de la Espartería, where the orchardists from El Ruedo waited to bargain with the farmers; it entered the Plaza de las Cañas, and while the multitude moved about, the winter sun, yellow, brilliant as gold, fell upon and reverberated from the white awnings.
Quentin went through the Arco Bajo to a plazoleta where a group of old men were sunning themselves, with their cloaks tied to their bodies and their stiff, broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes. The majority of them were so preoccupied in their noble task of doing nothing, that Quentin dared not bother them with questions, so he made his way toward a lupine-seller who was seated beneath a small awning which sheltered him from the sun.
The man had fastened a frame to the wall which served him as an awning. As the red disk of the sun descended in the heavens, the man changed the angle of the frame, always keeping himself in the shade.
This wise fellow, who was reading a paper at the moment through a pair of glasses, wore a high-crowned, sugar-loaf hat; he had the small, gentle eyes of a drunkard, a long, twisted, red nose, and a white, pointed beard. When Quentin accosted him, he lifted his eyes with indifference, looked over his glasses, and said:
“Sweetmeats? Lupine?”
“No; I would like you to tell me if there is a pawn shop around here besides those in La Corredera.”
“Sí, Señor; there is one in the Plaza de la Almagra.”
“Where is that?”
“Near here. Would you like me to go with you?”
“No, thanks. They might steal your wares.”