The two made their way through a corridor to a dark room that reeked foully with iodoform. Roberto knocked.
“Sandoval!”
“What’s the trouble? What’s the matter?” shouted a powerful voice.
“It’s I; Roberto.”
There came the sounds of a man in his underclothes stepping out of bed and opening the shutters of the balcony; then they could see him return to his spacious bed.
He was a man of about forty, chubby-cheeked, corpulent, with a black beard.
“What’s the time?” he asked, stretching his limbs.
“Ten.”
“The devil, you say! As early as that? I’m glad you woke me; I’ve so many things to do. Shout down the corridor for me, will you.”
Roberto yelled a sonorous “Eh!” whereupon a painted girl walked into the room in evident ill-humor.