Currito emptied the wine-glass, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and left the cellar.
“Are you a foreigner?” Señor José asked Quentin.
“I was educated outside of Spain.”
“Will you be in Cordova for some time?”
“I think so.”
“Well, I’m glad, because I like you.”
“Many thanks.”
“I’ll tell you who I am, and if after that, it doesn’t seem a bad idea to you, we’ll be friends.”
“Before, too.”
“No, not before. I am Pacheco, the horseman, or rather Pacheco, the bandit. Now, if you care to be Pacheco’s friend, here’s my hand.”