Before we escaped her husband sold us some very vivid postal cards
representing the sport; so that with the help of a large black cat
holding the center of the ring, we felt that we had seen as much of a
bull-fight as we could reasonably wish.
We were seeing the wonders of the city in the guidance of a charming boy
whom we had found in wait for us at the gate of the hotel garden when we
came out. He offered his services in the best English he had, and he had
enough of it to match my Spanish word for word throughout the morning.
He led us from the bull-ring to the church known to few visitors, I
believe, where the last male descendant of Montezuma lies entombed,
under a fit inscription, and then through the Plaza past the college of
Montezuma, probably named for this heir of the Aztec empire. I do not
know why the poor prince should have come to die in Ronda, but there are
many things in Ronda which I could not explain: especially why a certain
fruit is sold by an old woman on the bridge. Its berries are threaded on
a straw and look like the most luscious strawberries but taste like
turpentine, though they may be avoided under the name of _madrones.
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