“Now I’ve got to cross that azotea where we abandoned Doña Sinda: it must be that one. Here goes.”
He went on his way, jumped the balustrade on one side, then on the other, went a little further,—and turned the wrong way. He was confused, not knowing which way to go: whether to the right or to the left. It was beginning to get dark, and Quentin went around and around fruitlessly, unable to find the cornice along which he had passed with Pacheco.
Suddenly he heard the ding dong of a bell and supposing it to be that of the convent, he followed the direction of the sound, climbed a ridge pole, and saw beneath him the patio of a convent where several nuns were walking to and fro.
Quentin climbed down the whole side of a roof, found the cornice, and reached the balcony on all fours. The little window was open, and he jumped to the stairs.
There was a little passageway opposite, on one side of which was an open door that led into a kitchen. It was probably the gardener’s house; in the middle of the kitchen, seated upon the floor, was a child playing. Upon the wall hung a dirty blouse and an old hat.
“At them!” cried Quentin.
He entered the kitchen, seized the blouse with one hand and the hat with the other, and beat a hasty retreat. The child was frightened and began to cry. Quentin descended the stairs into the garden, and as no one was looking, put on the blouse, stuck the hat on his head, and went out into the street.
He went through alley after alley in the direction of El Matadero and the Campo de San Antón. As night fell, he was already well on his way to Madrid.
Meanwhile in El Cuervo’s tavern, everything was excitement and merry making. The news, divulged by Carrahola, that Quentin was there with the money, had attracted all the ruffians who had taken part in Pacheco’s chimerical attempt. They thought they would get paid for their services, and El Cuervo trusted them for wine.
They awaited impatiently the arrival of Pacheco, who was later than usual that evening. At eight-thirty he appeared.