They passed through a short corridor which ended in a long, narrow room, with low wooden platforms on either side and two rows of beds. Over the centre hung an oil-lamp that hardly illuminated the spacious hall. The floor, which was of brick, twisted to one side.
Ortiz asked for the candle and went along the row of beds, shedding its light upon each successive face.
Some were snoring outrageously; others, still awake, permitted themselves to be peered at. The bedsheets revealed bare shoulders, herculean chests, the sunken thorax of sickly folk....
“Is there anybody downstairs?” asked Ortiz of the matron.
“Not on the first floor. There must be somebody in the rooms off the vestibule.”
They went down to the entrance. A door led to a damp cellar. In a corner lay a beggar asleep in his shreds and patches.
On the day following this expedition, Manuel, returning in the afternoon to La Fea’s, found Jesús sitting down and chatting with his sister and La Salvadora.
At sight of him Manuel was overcome by a certain emotion. The lad was still very weak and pale. The two youths examined each other closely, and chatted about the life they had led since their last meeting. Then they passed to present affairs, and Manuel explained his situation and the duties that bound him to Ortiz.
“Yes, I know. They’ve told me all about it already,” said Jesús. “But I refused to believe it. So they let you go free on condition that you’d help capture El Bizco? And you agreed?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t they’d have kept me locked up. What was I to do?”