Both seemed perfectly satisfied with the justness of this conclusion, and continued smoking till their cigars were burnt to stumps, when they arose, twitched their whiskers, looked at us with fierce disdain, and dashing the tobacco-ends to the ground, strode out of the apartment.

“Those people seem no friends to the gipsies,” said I to Antonio, when the two bullies had departed; “nor to the Calo language either.”

“May evil glanders seize their nostrils,” said Antonio:  “they have been jonjabadoed by our people.  However, brother, you did wrong to speak to me in Calo, in a posada like this:  it is a forbidden language; for, as I have often told you, the king has destroyed the law of the Cales.  Let us away, brother, or those juntunes may set the justicia upon us.”

Towards evening we drew near to a large town or village.  “That is Merida,” said Antonio, “formerly, as the Busne say, a mighty city of the Corahai.  We shall stay here to-night, and perhaps for a day or two, for I have some business of Egypt to transact in this place.  Now, brother, step aside with the horse, and wait for me beneath yonder wall.  I must go before and see in what condition matters stand.”

I dismounted from the horse, and sat down on a stone beneath the ruined wall to which Antonio had motioned me.  The sun went down, and the air was exceedingly keen; I drew close around me an old tattered gipsy cloak with which my companion had provided me, and being somewhat fatigued, fell into a doze which lasted for nearly an hour.

“Is your worship the London Caloro?” said a strange voice close beside me.

I started, and beheld the face of a woman peering under my hat.  Notwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features were hideously ugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to a gipsy crone at least seventy years of age, leaning upon a staff.

“Is your worship the London Caloro?” repeated she.

“I am he whom you seek,” said I; “where is Antonio?”

“Curelando, curelando; baribustres curelos terela,” said the crone.  “Come with me, Caloro of my garlochin, come with me to my little ker; he will be there anon.”

I followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which was ruinous and seemingly half deserted; we went up the street, from which she turned into a narrow and dark lane, and presently opened the gate of a large dilapidated house.  “Come in,” said she.

“And the gras?” I demanded.

“Bring the gras in too, my chabo, bring the gras in too; there is room for the gras in my little stable.”  We entered a large court, across which we proceeded till we came to a wide doorway.  “Go in, my child of Egypt,” said the hag; “go in, that is my little stable.”

“The place is as dark as pitch,” said I, “and may be a well for what I know; bring a light, or I will not enter.”