“Good-night, my son.”
“Now for the sentry,” murmured Carmen; “luckily we have the password, otherwise it might be awkward.”
“We must try to slip past him.”
But it was not to be. As we step through the gateway into the street, the man turns right about face and we are seen.
“Halte! Quien vive?” he cried.
“Friends.”
“Advance, friends, and give the countersign.”
“As you see, I am a friar. I have been shriving a condemned prisoner. You surely do not expect me to give the countersign!” said Carmen, going close up to him.
“Certainly not, padre. But who is that with you?”
“Pablo, the turnkey.”