“The whole party was assembled in the patio, and in spite of the crowd I could see nearly everything that went on through the lattice.* I could hear the castanets and the tambourine, the laughter and applause.  Sometimes I caught a glimpse of her head as she bounded upward with her tambourine.  Then I could hear the officers saying many things to her which brought the blood to my face.  As to her answers, I knew nothing of them.  It was on that day, I think, that I began to love her in earnest—­for three or four times I was tempted to rush into the patio, and drive my sword into the bodies of all the coxcombs who were making love to her.  My torture lasted a full hour; then the gipsies came out, and the carriage took them away.  As she passed me by, Carmen looked at me with those eyes you know, and said to me very low, ’Comrade, people who are fond of good fritata come to eat it at Lillas Pastia’s at Triana!’

* In most of the houses in Seville there is an inner court surrounded by an arched portico.  This is used as a sitting- room in summer.  Over the court is stretched a piece of tent cloth, which is watered during the day and removed at night.  The street door is almost always left open, and the passage leading to the court (zaguan) is closed by an iron lattice of very elegant workmanship.

“Then, light as a kid, she stepped into the carriage, the coachman whipped up his mules, and the whole merry party departed, whither I know not.

“You may fancy that the moment I was off guard I went to Triana; but first of all I got myself shaved and brushed myself up as if I had been going on parade.  She was living with Lillas Pastia, an old fried-fish seller, a gipsy, as black as a Moor, to whose house a great many civilians resorted to eat fritata, especially, I think, because Carmen had taken up her quarters there.

“‘Lillas,’ she said, as soon as she saw me.  ’I’m not going to work any more to-day.  To-morrow will be a day, too.* Come, fellow-countryman, let us go for a walk!’

     * Manana sera otro dia.—­A Spanish proverb.

“She pulled her mantilla across her nose, and there we were in the street, without my knowing in the least whither I was bound.

“‘Senorita,’ said I, ’I think I have to thank you for a present I had while I was in prison.  I’ve eaten the bread; the file will do for sharpening my lance, and I keep it in remembrance of you.  But as for the money, here it is.’

“‘Why, he’s kept the money!’ she exclaimed, bursting out laughing.  ’But, after all, that’s all the better—­for I’m decidedly hard up!  What matter!  The dog that runs never starves!* Come, let’s spend it all!  You shall treat.’

     * Chuquel sos pirela, cocal terela.  “The dog that runs
     finds a bone.”—­Gipsy proverb.