"'You must either go by sea, or you must get through by San Rocco,
whichever you like the best; once you are in Gibraltar, inquire in the
port where a chocolate-seller called _La Rollona_ lives. When you've
found her, she'll tell you everything that's happening.'

"It was settled that we were all to start for the Sierra, that I was
to leave my two companions there, and take my way to Gibraltar, in
the character of a fruit-seller. At Ronda one of our men procured me
a passport; at Gaucin I was provided with a donkey. I loaded it with
oranges and melons, and started forth. When I reached Gibraltar I found
that many people knew _La Rollona_, but that she was either dead or had
gone _ad finibus terroe_,* and, to my mind, her disappearance explained
the failure of our correspondence with Carmen. I stabled my donkey,
and began to move about the town, carrying my oranges as though to sell
them, but in reality looking to see whether I could not come across any
face I knew. The place is full of ragamuffins from every country in the
world, and it really is like the Tower of Babel, for you can't go ten
paces along a street without hearing as many languages. I did see some
gipsies, but I hardly dared confide in them. I was taking stock of them,
and they were taking stock of me. We had mutually guessed each other
to be rogues, but the important thing for us was to know whether we
belonged to the same gang. After having spent two days in fruitless
wanderings, and having found out nothing either as to _La Rollona_ or
as to Carmen, I was thinking I would go back to my comrades as soon as I
had made a few purchases, when, toward sunset, as I was walking along a
street, I heard a woman's voice from a window say, 'Orange-seller!'

* To the galleys, or else to all the devils in hell.

"I looked up, and on a balcony I saw Carmen looking out, beside a