. Around the fountain full of noise, where the pitchers [14] creep upon the stone, created scold soldiers fardeta with your dirty boots huge bunch, dating, shaking the whip of rushes, with its bulbous clay pitcher balanced will head on the mop, girls were in pairs, shaking hips, and stranded two officers, with the uniform loose on the stomach, talking, waiting to see who would come. The diligence was slow. When twilight fell, shone a lamp in the niche the saint, over the bow, and went up front to an illuminating one, with a gloomy light, the windows of the hospital.

Night had fallen when the diligence with lights acces, entered the Bridge trot tucked up their meager white horses, and came to the foot of the fountain beneath the Inn of the Cross, the clerk’s uncle Patricio went running to the right square with the pack of popular daily; Uncle Baptist, the patron, with the black pipe to the corner of the mouth, desatrellava, cursing tranquilly, and a man who was on the pillow at the foot of the driver, a tall hat and long cloak ecclesiastical, descended cautiously, clinging to the guards iron seats, stamped his feet on the ground for desentorpecer, and looked around.

-Oh, love! cried the canon who had come on, oh, thief!