CHAPTER II. THE SIGN OF THE CROCODILE.
THE innkeeper was a man of middle size, half Spaniard and half Moor, with a big body and thin leys, a brown skin and grey eyes. He had acquired considerable reputation in the district for his mode of dressing calves’ feet with saffron, and his handiness in stabbing people in the right place. He made everything a matter of trade, and used to regret that he had inherited no religious opinions which he could have abjured at a fixed price to be got either from the Saracens or the Christians. For the rest, he was a most obliging host, provided your purse was well supplied; and I believe I shall put the finishing stroke to the likeness when I say he was the biggest robber in all Spain, from Pontevedra to Girone.
Ali Pépé opened the door. One is always forgetting something, and I forgot to tell you his name was Ali Pépé.
“Where’s the landlady?” asked Allegrignac, twisting his moustache.
“I want a bed,” yawned Porc-en-Truie.
“Some supper!” growled Mont-Rognon.
Maragougnia said nothing. He was absorbed in studying the inn, and the estimate he formed seemed far from satisfactory.
Ali Pépé stood on the defensive, blocking the entrance of the inn.
“Your lordships appear of too exalted a station for me to omit to inform you that you will find the accommodation here very unsuited to you.”
“Here’s frankness and disinterestedness! But where can we find better accommodation?”