Manuel, who had not taken the trouble to read all these signs, went into the building by a little door at the side of the livery-stable entrance, and walked through the corridor to a very filthy courtyard.
When he returned to the street the cobbler's shop had already been opened. Petra and her boy entered.
"Isn't Señor Ignacio in?" she asked.
"He'll be here in a second," answered a youngster who was piling up old shoes in the middle of the shop.
"Tell him that his cousin is here,—Petra."
Señor Ignacio appeared. He was a man of between forty and fifty, thin and wizened. Petra and he got into conversation, while the boy and a little urchin continued to heap up the old shoes. Manuel was looking on, when the boy said to him:
"Come on, you. Lend a hand!"
Manuel pitched in, and when the three had ended their labours, they waited for Petra and Señor Ignacio to finish chatting. Petra was recounting Manuel's latest exploits to her cousin and the cobbler listened smilingly. The man bore no signs of gruffness; he was blond and beardless; upon his upper lip sprouted a few saffron-hued hairs. His complexion was leathery, wrinkled; the deep furrows of his face, and his wearied mien, gave him the appearance of a weakling. He spoke with a certain ironic vagueness.
"You're going to stay here," said Petra to Manuel.
"All right."