serole from the fire in which various eggs
were frying; this I held out at arm's length, peering at it along my arm
as if I were curiously inspecting it--my right foot advanced, and the
other thrown back as far as possible. All stood still, imagining,
doubtless, that I was about to perform some grand operation; and so I
was: for suddenly the sinister leg advancing, with one rapid _coup de
pied_ I sent the casserole and its contents flying over my head, so that
they struck the wall far behind me. This was to let them know that I had
broken my staff and had shaken the dust off my feet. So casting upon the
count the peculiar glance of the Sceirote cooks when they feel themselves
insulted, and extending my mouth on either side nearly as far as the
ears, I took down my haversack and departed, singing as I went the song
of the ancient Demos, who, when dying, asked for his supper, and water
wherewith to lave his hands:

[Greek verse]

And in this manner, mon maitre, I left the house of the Count of ---."

The morning after Francisco died, when Borrow was lying in bed ruminating
on his loss, he heard someone cleaning boots and singing in an unknown
tongue, so he rang the bell. Antonio appeared. He had, he said, engaged
himself to the Prime Minister at a high salary, but on hearing of
Borrow's loss, he "told the Duke, though it was late at night, that he
would not suit me; and here I am." Again he left Borrow. When he
returned it was in obedience to a dream, in which he saw his master ride
on a black horse up to his inn--yet this was immediately after Borrow's
landing on his third visit to Spain, of which "only two individuals in
Madrid were aware." This Greek was acquainted with all the cutthroats in
Galicia; he could tell a story like Sterne, and in every way was a
servant who deserved no less a master than _Monsieur Georges_.

Francisco has already sufficiently adorned these pages. As for the other
Antonio, the Gypsy, he guided Borrow through the worst of Spain on his
way to Madrid. This he offered to do in such terms that Borrow's hint at
the possible danger of accepting it falls flat. He was as mysterious as
Borrow himself, and being asked why he was taking this particular road,
he answered: "It is an affair of Egypt, brother, and I shall not acquaint
you with it; peradventure it relates to a horse or an ass, or
peradventure it relates to a mule or a _macho_; it does not relate to
yourself, therefore I advi