‘Otra copita! vamos Inglesito:  Otra copita!’

’Thank you, my good sir, you are very kind.  You appear to know me, but I have not the honour of knowing you.’

‘Not know me!’ replied the being.  ’I am Sevilla, the torero.  I know you well; you are the friend of Baltasarito, the national, who is a friend of mine, and a very good subject.’

Then turning to the company, he said in a sonorous tone, laying a strong emphasis on the last syllable of every word, according to the custom of the gente rufianesca throughout Spain—­

’Cavaliers, and strong men, this cavalier is the friend of a friend of mine.  Es mucho hombre.  There is none like him in Spain.  He speaks the crabbed Gitano, though he is an Inglesito.’

‘We do not believe it,’ replied several grave voices.  ’It is not possible.’

’It is not possible, say you?  I tell you it is.  Come forward, Balseiro, you who have been in prison all your life, and are always boasting that you can speak the crabbed Gitano, though I say you know nothing of it—­come forward and speak to his worship in the crabbed Gitano.’

A low, slight, but active figure stepped forward.  He was in his shirt-sleeves, and wore a montero cap; his features were handsome but they were those of a demon.

He spoke a few words in the broken gypsy slang of the prison, inquiring of me whether I had ever been in the condemned cell, and whether I knew what a Gitana was.

‘Vamos Inglesito,’ shouted Sevilla, in a voice of thunder; ’answer the monro in the crabbed Gitano.’

I answered the robber, for such he was, and one too whose name will live for many a year in the ruffian histories of Madrid; I answered him in a speech of some length, in the dialect of the Estremenian gypsies.

‘I believe it is the crabbed Gitano,’ muttered Balseiro.  ’It is either that or English, for I understand not a word of it.’

‘Did I not say to you,’ cried the bullfighter, ’that you knew nothing of the crabbed Gitano?  But this Ingleisto does.  I understood all he said.  Vaya, there is none like him for the crabbed Gitano.  He is a good ginete, too; next to myself, there is none like him, only he rides with stirrup leathers too short.  Inglesito, if you have need of money, I will lend you my purse.  All I have is at your service, and that is not a little; I have just gained four thousand chules by the lottery.  Courage, Englishman!  Another cup.  I will pay all—­I, Sevilla!’

And he clapped his hand repeatedly on his breast, reiterating, ’I, Sevilla!  I—­

* * * * *

’The waiter drew the cork, and filled the glasses with a pinky liquor, which bubbled, hissed and foamed.  ‘How do you like it?’ said the jockey, after I had imitated the example of my companions, by despatching my portion at a draught.

‘It is wonderful wine,’ said I; ’I have never tasted champagne before, though I have frequently heard it praised; it more than answers my expectations; but, I confess, I should not wish to be obliged to drink it every day.’