arge courtyard bear
to-day a black stain where, the curious inquirer will be told, the
caretakers of the empty house have been in the habit of cooking their
bread on a brazier of charcoal fanned into glow with a palm leaf
scattering the ashes. But the true story of the black stain is in reality
quite otherwise. For it was here that the infuriated people burnt the
chapel furniture when the monasteries of Saragossa were sacked.

The Sarrions left their carriage at the corner of the Calle de la Merced,
in the shadow of a tall house, for the sun was already strong at midday
though the snow lay on the hills round Torre Garda. They found the house
closely barred. The dust and the cobwebs were undisturbed on the huge
windows. The house was as empty as it had been these forty years.

Marcos tried the door, which resisted his strength like a wall. It was a
true monastic door with no crack through which even a fly could pass.

"That house stands empty," said an old woman who passed by. "It has stood
empty since I was a girl. It is accursed. They killed the good fathers
there."

Sarrion thanked her and walked on. Marcos was examining the dust on the
road out of the corners of his eyes.

"Two carriages have stopped here," he said, "at this small door which
looks as if it belonged to the next house."

"Ah!" answered Sarrion, "that is an old trick. I have seen doors like
that before. There are several in the Calle San Gregorio. Sitting on my
balcony in the Casa Sarrion I have seen a man go into one house and look
out of the window of the next a minute later."

"Mon has not arrived," said Marcos, with his eye on the road. "He has the
carriage of One-eyed Pedro whose near horse has a circular shoe."

"But we must not wait for him. The risk would be too great. They may
dispense with his presence."

"No," answered Marcos thoughtfully, looking at the smaller door which
seemed to belong to the next house. "We must not wait."

As he spoke a carriage appeared at the farther end of the Calle de la
Merced, which is a straight and narrow street.

"Here they come," he added, and drew his father into a doorway across the
street.

It was indeed the carriage of the man known as One-eyed Pedro, a victim
to the dust of Aragon, and the near horse left a circular mark with its
hind foot on the road.

Evasio Mon descended from the carriage and paid the man, giving, it would
seem, a liberal "propina," for the One-eyed Pedro expectorated on