ere were crowded, in perspiring confusion, almost a thousand men.

He was the clock that governed the life and the activities of this mass
of male flesh perpetually seething with hatred. He made the round of the
cells to announce, with sonorous blasts, the arrival of the worthy
director, or a visit from the authorities; from the progress of the sun
along the white walls of the prison-yard he could tell the approach of
the visiting hours,--the best part of the day,--and with his tongue
stuck between his lips he would await orders impatiently, ready to burst
into the joyous signal that sent the flock of prisoners scampering over
the stairways in an anxious run toward the locutories, where a wretched
crowd of women and children buzzed in conversation; his insatiable
hunger kept him pacing back and forth in the vicinity of the old
kitchen, in which the enormous stews filled the atmosphere with a
nauseating odor, and he bemoaned the indifference of the chef, who was
always late in giving the order for the mess-call.

Those imprisoned for crimes of blood, heroes of the dagger who had
killed their man in a fierce brawl or in a dispute over a woman and who
formed an aristocracy that disdained the petty thieves, looked upon the
bugler as the butt for pranks with which to while away their boredom.

"Blow!" would come the command from some formidable fellow, proud of his
crimes and his courage.

And _Magdalena_ would draw himself up with military rigidity, close his
mouth and inflate his cheeks, momentarily expecting two blows, delivered
simultaneously by both hands, to expel the air from the ruddy globe of
his face. At other times these redoubtable personages tested the
strength of their arms upon _Magdalena's_ pate, which was bare with the
baldness of repugnant diseases, and they would howl with laughter at the
damage done to their fists by the protuberances of the hard skull. The
bugler lent himself to these tortures with the humility of a whipped
dog, and found a certain revenge in repeating, afterwards, those words
that were a solace to him:

"I'm good; I'm not a brave fellow. Petty thefts, that's all.... But as
to blood, not a single drop."

Visiting time brought his wife, the notorious _Peluchona_, a valiant
creature who inspired him with great fear. She was the mistress of one
of the most dangerous bandits in the jail. Daily she brought that fellow
food, procuring these dainties at the cost of all manner of vile labor