“They are looking at the balcony.”
“Which of them is it?”
“This affair is beginning badly and may end worse.”
Another five minutes passed, and then the tallest one, losing patience, turned and walked slowly up the street.
“Since he is going I sha’n’t stay here. I’ll follow him and try to bring to light that which is as dark as this unfortunate night.” And the one who came out of the garden also went up the street.
A few minutes after, the chubby one followed the other two.
We cannot tell whether each one knew that he was followed by the others, or not, but after passing several streets they reached one called “Majaderitos,” or to speak more correctly the first reached it, the second being in Carretas street, and the third in Puerta de Sol.
In those days there was in this Majaderitos street a hostelry, the resort of all gay young people, and more frequented by night than by day, as a general thing. The doors were always locked at the hour prescribed by law, but would be opened for every customer, and at all hours of the day and night one could find there good eating and still better wines, while as the house had many large apartments and small rooms, and as the hotelkeeper and all the attendants were accommodating, wise, and discreet, those who honored the house at any time that was convenient found there independence, freedom, and forgetfulness of their troubles.
The muffled wanderer stopped at this inn and called. A small window opened immediately, and a voice asked,
“Who is there?”