"No; it is right here, in the house where the cafe is." THE INN

Sure enough, the inn was only a step away. They went into the damp, dark
entrance, up the crooked stairs, and down the corridor to the kitchen.

"Good morning, good morning!" they shouted.

Nobody appeared.

"Might it be on the second floor?" asked Alzugaray.

"Let's go see."

They went up to the next floor, entered by a gallery of red brick, which
was falling to pieces, and called several times. An old woman, from
inside a dark bedroom where she was sweeping, bade them go down to the
dining-room, where she would bring them breakfast.

The dining-room had balconies toward the country, and was full of sun;
the bedrooms they were taken to, on the other hand, were dark, gloomy,
and cavernous. Alzugaray requested the old woman to show them the other
vacant chambers, and chose two on the second floor, which were lighter
and airier.

The old woman told them she hadn't wanted to take them there, because
there was no paper on the walls.

"No doubt, in Castro, the prospect of bed-bugs is an agreeable
prospect," said Caesar.

After he had washed and dressed, Caesar started out to find and capture
Don Calixto, and Alzugaray went to take a stroll around the town. It was
agreed that they should each explore the region in his own way.

II. CASTRO DURO

THE MORNING

In these severe old Castilian towns there is one hour of ideal peace and
serenity. That is the early morning. The cocks are still crowing, the
sound of the church bells is scattered on the air, and the sun begins to
penetrate into the streets in gusts of light. The morning is a flood of
charity that falls upon the yellowish town.

The sky is blue, the air limpid, pure, and diaphanous; the transparent
atmosphere scarcely admits effects of perspective, and its ethereal
mass makes the outlines of the houses, of the belfries, of the eaves,
vibrate. The cold breeze plays at the cross-streets, and amuses itself
by twisting the stems of the geraniums and pinks that flame on the
balconies. Everywhere there is an odour of cistus and of burning broom,
which comes from the ovens where the bread is baked, and an odour of
lavender that comes from the house entries.

The town yawns and awakes; some priests pass, on their way to church;
pious women come out of their houses; and market men and women begin to
arrive from the villages nearby. The bells make that _tilin-talan_ so
sad, which seems