Quentin threw the basket out of the window, and lowered it the full length of the string. He was preparing to eat his breakfast with a good appetite, when the woman opened her eyes.
“Good morning, Señora,” said Quentin. “They have sent me my breakfast. I’ll treat if you wish. I’ll go out for a stroll on the roof, and meanwhile, you can be dressing yourself. Then, if you would like to heat the food....”
“Oh, no. No cooking,” replied she. “I feel very ill.”
“Well, then; we’ll eat the chicken cold.”
Quentin went out on the roof. He took out his pencil and notebook, and busied himself writing an article for La Víbora.
When he had finished, he went back to the garret.
“I’m not dressed yet,” said the woman.
Quentin returned to the roof; wrote two selections for the paper, one insulting the Government and the other the Mayor; then he crawled about the roof. On an azotea some distance away, a girl was arranging some flower pots. Probably she was pretty.... Quentin drew near to watch her.
He was surprised in this espionage by Pacheco, who came on all fours along the ridge pole.
“Good day, comrade,” said Pacheco.