the rooms were warm. The rooms themselves responded to our appeal and
looked down into a silent inner court, deaf to the clatter of the
streets, and sleep haunted the very air, distracted, if at all, by the
instant facility and luxury of the appliances. Was it really in Spain
that a metallic tablet at the bed-head invited the wanderer to call with
one button for the _camerero,_ another for the _camerera,_ and another
for the _mozo,_ who would all instantly come speaking English like so
many angels? Were we to have these beautiful chambers for a humble two
dollars and forty cents a day; and if it was true, why did we ever leave
them and try for something ever so much worse and so very little
cheaper? Let me be frank with the reader whom I desire for my friend,
and own that we were frightened from the Eitz Hotel by the rumor of Eitz
prices. I paid my bill there, which was imagined with scrupulous
fullness to the last possible _centimo,_ and so I may disinterestedly
declare that the Eitz is the only hotel in Madrid where you get the
worth of your money, even when the money seems more but scarcely is so.
In all Spain I know of only two other hotels which may compare with it,
and these are the English hotels, one at Ronda and one at Algeciras. If
I add falteringly the hotel where we stayed a night in Toledo and the
hotel where we abode a fortnight in Seville, I heap the measure of merit
and press it down.

We did not begin at once our insensate search for another hotel in
Madrid: but the sky had cleared and we went out into the strange capital
so uncharacteristically characteristic, to find tea at a certain cafe we
had heard of. It was in the Calle de Alcala (a name which so richly
stimulates the imagination), and it looked out across this handsome
street, to a club that I never knew the name of, where at a series of
open windows was a flare of young men in silk hats leaning out on their
elbows and letting no passing fact of the avenue escape them. It was