“The heart of the balichow is in that puchera,” said Antonio; “eat, brother.”  We both sat down and ate, Antonio voraciously.  When we had concluded he arose:- “Have you got your li?” he demanded.  “Here it is,” said I, showing him my passport.  “Good,” said he, “you may want it; I want none, my passport is the bar lachi.  Now for a glass of repani, and then for the road.”

We left the room, the door of which he locked, hiding the key beneath a loose brick in a corner of the passage.  “Go into the street, brother, whilst I fetch the caballerias from the stable.”  I obeyed him.  The sun had not yet risen, and the air was piercingly cold; the grey light, however, of dawn enabled me to distinguish objects with tolerable accuracy; I soon heard the clattering of the animals’ feet, and Antonio presently stepped forth leading the horse by the bridle; the macho followed behind.  I looked at the horse and shrugged my shoulders:  as far as I could scan it, it appeared the most uncouth animal I had ever beheld.  It was of a spectral white, short in the body, but with remarkably long legs.  I observed that it was particularly high in the cruz or withers.  “You are looking at the grasti,” said Antonio; “it is eighteen years old, but it is the very best in the Chim del Manro; I have long had my eye upon it; I bought it for my own use for the affairs of Egypt.  Mount, brother, mount and let us leave the foros—­the gate is about being opened.”

He locked the door, and deposited the key in his faja.  In less than a quarter of an hour we had left the town behind us.  “This does not appear to be a very good horse,” said I to Antonio, as we proceeded over the plain.  “It is with difficulty that I can make him move.”

“He is the swiftest horse in the Chim del Manro, brother,” said Antonio; “at the gallop and at the speedy trot there is no one to match him; but he is eighteen years old, and his joints are stiff, especially of a morning; but let him once become heated and the genio del viejo (spirit of the old man) comes upon him and there is no holding him in with bit or bridle.  I bought that horse for the affairs of Egypt, brother.”

About noon we arrived at a small village in the neighbourhood of a high lumpy hill.  “There is no Calo house in this place,” said Antonio; “we will therefore go to the posada of the Busne, and refresh ourselves, man and beast.”  We entered the kitchen and sat down at the boards, calling for wine and bread.  There were two ill-looking fellows in the kitchen, smoking cigars; I said something to Antonio in the Calo language.

“What is that I hear?” said one of the fellows, who was distinguished by an immense pair of moustaches.  “What is that I hear? is it in Calo that you are speaking before me, and I a Chalan and national?  Accursed gypsy, how dare you enter this posada and speak before me in that speech?  Is it not forbidden by the law of the land in which we are, even as it is forbidden for a gypsy to enter the mercado?  I tell you what, friend, if I hear another word of Calo come from your mouth, I will cudgel your bones and send you flying over the house-tops with a kick of my foot.”