The watchman put down his lantern deliberately and struck the ground with his spear. "Is it possible, señor! Santa Maria! A plague upon memory and eyesight! But the night is dark, and my lantern burns dim. Indeed I remember it well. Can I ever forget your largesse on that occasion? I have often wondered how you fared in Spain and whither you wandered. Often wished I might meet you again."
"But what brings you here? Surely Burgos is more important than Lerida, and you have progressed backwards. This hardly looks like promotion."
"Oh, señor, there is no promotion for us poor watchmen. One town is much as another. I earn as much in Lerida as I did in Burgos, and the saints know either pays little enough."
"Were you, then, sent here for any special reason?"
"A reason of my own, señor. My wife's old parents live here and she wanted to be near them; so I petitioned to come here and it was granted. On the whole I am better off than in Burgos."
After some further conversations, and with a substantial remembrance for auld lang syne, we left the old watchman and turned for our hotel.
We soon felt almost as lost as in that past time at Burgos. The houses were all exactly alike. Every light was out, every door closed. There was no especial lamp to indicate which was the inn, and we could discover neither sign nor name. At last in the darkness we managed to trace on a lamp, in small characters, the words _Fonda de España_. The great door beneath was shut, like every other door; but there was a ponderous knocker, to which we directed our energies.
It was all in vain, for no one responded. Knock after knock brought forth no result. The echoes we roused in the avenue were enough to wake the dead. Our watchman had gone to the far end, and by the gleam of his lamp we saw him turn and hasten. The habitable part of the inn was upstairs, a league of passages separated it from the outer door. If everyone was in bed and asleep, we might knock away until daybreak.
We were growing concerned, when just as our old friend the watchman arrived upon the scene, up rushed another functionary in breathless agitation: the night porter of the hotel, and he carried great keys in his hand.
"A thousand pardons, gentlemen," he began, as far as want of breath would allow him. "I did not know any one was out and went for a short walk just to breathe the midnight air and contemplate the stars. I heard you knocking when quite a mile away. You have indeed the strength of Hercules. And there is also something peculiar in this knocker. You may hear it all over the town, but cannot hear it in the hotel unless you are in the porter's lodge. It has been said the house is bewitched, and I think it; for once, when the Bishop breakfasted here, as soon as he entered the doors a loud report was heard and the place trembled, just as if some evil spirit were frightened and had departed in a flash of lightning. If you only knew how I ran when I heard the knocker, you would pity me."