“What is this building?” asked Quentin.
“It is a convent,” replied the bandit. “Now, we mustn’t go together any more. You come along about twenty or thirty paces behind me.”
Quentin followed him at a distance, and after traversing several intricate alleys, they came out upon the Plaza de Séneca, and from there upon the Calle de Ambrosio de Morales, where the theatre was. A gas light illuminated the door, scarcely lessening the shadows of the street. The play had not yet begun. Pacheco entered a near-by shop, and Quentin followed him.
“You stay here,” said the bandit, “and when everybody has gone in, you follow. I’m going to the Countess’ house.”
People were crowding into the theatre; two or three carriages drove up; several whole families came along, with a sprinkling of artisans. When he no longer saw anyone in the lobby, Quentin left the little shop, entered the theatre, relinquished his ticket, climbed the stairs with long strides until he reached the top floor, and when he saw the usher, handed him a peseta.
The usher opened the door of a box.
“How is Señor José?” he asked.
“Well.”
“He’s a fine fellow.”
“Yes, he is.”