to Seville. After several months spent wandering hither and thither in
Andalusia, I wanted to get back to Madrid, and with that object I had to
pass through Cordova. I had no intention of making any stay there, for
I had taken a dislike to that fair city, and to the ladies who bathed
in the Guadalquivir. Nevertheless, I had some visits to pay, and certain
errands to do, which must detain me several days in the old capital of
the Mussulman princes.

The moment I made my appearance in the Dominican convent, one of the
monks, who had always shown the most lively interest in my inquiries
as to the site of the battlefield of Munda, welcomed me with open arms,
exclaiming:

"Praised be God! You are welcome! My dear friend. We all thought you
were dead, and I myself have said many a _pater_ and _ave_ (not that I
regret them!) for your soul. Then you weren't murdered, after all? That
you were robbed, we know!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, rather astonished.

"Oh, you know! That splendid repeater you used to strike in the library
whenever we said it was time for us to go into church. Well, it has been
found, and you'll get it back."

"Why," I broke in, rather put out of countenance, "I lost it--"

"The rascal's under lock and key, and as he was known to be a man who
would shoot any Christian for the sake of a _peseta_, we were
most dreadfully afraid he had killed you. I'll go with you to the
_Corregidor_, and he'll give you back your fine watch. And after that,