"I'll let you know. I was watching that blonde eye you. She's pretty."
"Yes."
"And she has a swell coach."
"I should say so."
"Well? Are you going to marry her?"
"What do I know? We'll see. Come, we can't stay here," said Roberto, stepping up to the counter to pay.
In the tavern a large number of beggars, seated at the tables, were gulping down slices of cod and scraps of meat; a piquant odour of fried bird-tripe and oil came from the kitchen.
They left. The wind still blew in eddies of sand; dry leaves and stray bits of newspaper danced madly through the air; the high houses near the Segovia Bridge, their narrow windows and galleries hung with tatters, seemed greyer and more sordid than ever when glimpsed through an atmosphere murky with dust.
Suddenly Roberto halted, and placing his hand upon Manuel's shoulder said:
"Listen to what I say, for it is the truth. If you ever want to accomplish anything in life, place no belief in the word 'impossible.' There's nothing impossible to an energetic will. If you try to shoot an arrow, aim very high,—as high as you can; the higher you aim, the farther you'll go."