little distance another street, narrow and retired, called Antón Trillo. You follow this until you reach the back of the church. There you will see a house. You stop there—”
“And then I come back again?”
“No; close to the house there is a garden, with a little gateway painted the color of chocolate. You stop there.”
“There I stop, and there I am!”
“No, old man. You will see—”
“You’re whiter than your shirt, my Augustine. What do all these towers and stoppages signify?”
“They mean,” continued my friend, with increasing embarrassment, “that in a little while you will be there. I desire you to go by night. All right, you arrive there. You stop. You wait a little, then you pass to the opposite sidewalk. You stretch your neck, and you will see a