“I don’t know. They’re the sisters of a compositor, Jesús by name.”
“La Fea?”
“Yes.”
“I know her. Where does she live?”
“Over on Mellizo Lane.”
“It’s right near here. Let’s go to see her.”
They went out. Mellizo Lane was up off the Calle de la Arganzuela, in the vicinity of the hog slaughter-house. The whole lane, which at its beginning was boarded up on both sides and obstructed by huge slabs heaped one upon the other, could boast but a solitary house of decent size. This was situated at the end of the alley. Before the house, in a large yard, some cañis were fussing about with their mules and donkeys; in the galleries, old gipsies and young, swart, with shining eyes and gay-hued raiment, were flitting around.
They asked a gipsy where La Fea lived and he replied that she would be found at number 6, second floor.
On the door of the room was a cardboard sign bearing the announcement: “Machine Sewing.”
They knocked, and a blond youngster appeared.