said a few words to her in Romany. At first the old hag grumbled. To
smooth her down Carmen gave her a couple of oranges and a handful of
sugar-plums, and let her have a taste of wine. Then she hung her cloak
on her back, and led her to the door, which she fastened with a wooden
bar. As soon as we were alone she began to laugh and caper like a
lunatic, singing out, 'You are my _rom_, I'm your _romi_.'****

* Sugared yolks of eggs.

** A sort of nougat.

*** This king, Don Pedro, whom we call "the Cruel," and whom
Queen Isabella, the Catholic, never called anything but "the
Avenger," was fond of walking about the streets of Seville
at night in search of adventures, like the Caliph Haroun al
Raschid. One night, in a lonely street, he quarrelled with a
man who was singing a serenade. There was a fight, and the
king killed the amorous _caballero_. At the clashing of
their swords, an old woman put her head out of the window
and lighted up the scene with a tiny lamp (candilejo) which
she held in her hand. My readers must be informed that King
Don Pedro, though nimble and muscular, suffered from one
strange fault in his physical conformation. Whenever he
walked his knees cracked loudly. By this cracking the old
woman easily recognised him. The next day the _veintiquatro_
in charge came to make his report to the king. "Sir, a duel
was fought last night in such a street--one of the
combatants is dead." "Have you found the murderer?" "Yes,
sir." "Why has he not been punished already?" "Sir, I await
your orders!" "Carry out the law." Now the king had just