soporific drugs of which they know the secret in my drink, for I did not wake up till very late the next day. I was rather feverish, and had a violent headache. It was some time before the memory of the terrible scene in which I had taken part on the previous night came back to me. After having dressed my wound. Carmen and her friend, squatting on their heels beside my mattress, exchanged a few words of 'chipe calli,' which appeared to me to be something in the nature of a medical consultation. Then they both of them assured me that I should soon be cured, but that I must get out of Seville at the earliest possible moment, for that, if I was caught there, I should most undoubtedly be shot.
"'My boy,' said Carmen to me, 'you'll have to do something. Now that the king won't give you either rice or haddock[1] you'll have to think of earning your livelihood. You're too stupid for stealing à pastesas.[2] But you are brave and active. If you have the pluck, take yourself off to the coast and turn smuggler. Haven't I promised to get you hanged? That's better than being shot, and besides, if you set about it properly, you'll live like a prince as
