Here and there a light shone beneath a house-door or through the chinks of a shutter.

I _felt_ that behind the windows I passed Ciudad Rodrigo was awake and waiting for its punishment.

Behind me, along the ramparts, the uproar still continued.

But the town, here and for the moment, I had to myself: and it was waiting, trembling to know what my revenge would be.
I came next to a small open square; and was crossing it, when in the corner on my right a door opened softly, showing a lit passage within, and a moment later was as softly shut.

Scarcely heeding, I ran on; my feet sounding sharply on the frozen cobbles.