Manuel and the Snake-Man spent more than two hours on the bench. At the end of this time the guards escorted them to another room in which was a tall man with a black beard combed in chulo fashion; he looked like a gambler or a croupier.
“Who are these persons?” asked the man, in an Andalusian accent.... As he twirled his moustaches, a diamond ring on his finger shot dazzling gleams.
“They’re the fellows who’ve been sleeping in the San Sebastian church,” said the guard. “They haven’t any home.”
“Begging your pardon,” interrupted Don Alonso. “By sheer accident....”
“Well, we’ll give them a home for a fortnight,” said the tall man.
Before Don Alonso could utter a word one of the guards shoved him rudely out of the room. Manuel followed him.
The two guards made them descend the stairways and put them into a dark room where, after some groping, they located a bench.
“Well, better times are coming,” said Don Alonso, sitting down and heaving a deep sigh.
Manuel, despite the fact that the situation was by no means a comical one, was seized with such an impulse to laugh that he could not contain it.