"_Capa de Dios!_" cried he. "Whether is it my person or my cloak you are fancying, Sir Robber?"
I thought I knew the voice, and I hastened to reply:
"I am neither a robber nor assassin, Señor Don--"
I thought the unknown was going to assist my memory, and state his name. He did nothing of the kind; but, putting his back to the door of a house, he said, roughly,
"I am seeking for the dwelling of Don Tadeo the licentiate," I replied; "and, if I am not greatly deceived, we are standing before it at this very moment."
"Tio Lucas, the public scribe. I wish to consult Don Tadeo on a very important affair."
"Don Tadeo! It is he that is speaking to you just now."
The costume of this man I could not distinguish; his features were precisely similar to the bull-fight amateur, with whose name Tio Lucas had acquainted me. I hastened to reply to Don Tadeo, counting myself happy in having met him, and begged a few minutes' private conversation.
"With the greatest pleasure," he replied. "I am quite ready to take up your affair; but let us first enter the house; we can then speak more at our ease." At the same time, he struck the pommel of his sword against the door behind him. "My profession," added he, "obliges me to employ many precautions. You will immediately comprehend why. Do not be astonished at my queer domicile. You may think me an original, and may have reason."
Don Tadeo paused, and the door of the mysterious house opened with a great clanking of chains. The porter, with a huge lantern in his hand, bowed respectfully to the licentiate, who motioned me to follow him. We walked rapidly along the _zaguan_ or lobby, and, after mounting a very steep stair, stopped before a serge curtain, surmounted by a transparent lantern, on which was inscribed, in large letters, _Sociedad Filarmonica_. Voices and confused cries escaped from the hall which bore this ambitious title. "Are those your clients who are making such a great noise, Señor Licentiate?" I inquired. Without a word, he lifted the curtain of green serge, and we found ourselves in an immense hall, indifferently lighted. A long table, covered with green baize, and surrounded with players, stood in the middle of the room. Besides the lamps which hung from the walls, the place was lighted up by four candles stuck into tin holders. Some small tables, with refreshments, placed at regular distances from each other, furnished the players with infusions of tamarinds, rose water, or Barcelona brandy. At the bottom of the hall rose a high estrade, ornamented with some size-color paintings, representing, for the purpose, no doubt, of showing the original design of the establishment, a confused group of bassoons, hunting-horns, and clarionets. My surprise may be easily conceived when I found myself in a gambling-house like this at the very time I fancied I was stepping into a lawyer's office. I contemplated my companion as if I were looking upon him for the first time. He was assuredly the very man I had met in the circus and in the Merchants' Arcades. With this strange costume, long rapier, and thick, black curly hair, his appearance partook more of the bandit than of the lawyer. He had taken only a few steps in the hall when he was accosted by two individuals--worthy habituès of such a den. The first was a tall, awkward, shambling fellow, with a ferocious air, who held out to the licentiate a hand large as a shoulder of mutton, and said, in Spanish, with strong English accent, "How is Señor Don Tadeo to-day?"