"You," the woman said. "Fernando.
You were in La Granja last night.
What movement was there?"
"Nothing," a short, open-faced man of about thirty-five with a cast in one eye, whom Robert Jordan had not seen before, answered.
"A few camions as usual.
Some cars.
No movement of troops while I was there."
"You go into La Granja every night?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"I or another," Fernando said.
"Some one goes."
"They go for the news. For tobacco.
For small things," the woman said.
"We have people there?"
"Yes.
Why not?
Those who work the power plant.
Some others."
"What was the news?"
"_Pues nada_.
There was nothing.
It still goes badly in the north.
That is not news.
In the north it has gone badly now since the beginning."
"Did you hear anything from Segovia?"
"No, _hombre_.
I did not ask."
"Do you go into Segovia?"
"Sometimes," Fernando said.
"But there is danger.
There are controls where they ask for your papers."
"Do you know the airfield?"
"No, _hombre_.
I know where it is but I was never close to it.
There, there is much asking for papers."
"No one spoke about these planes last night?"
"In La Gnanja?
Nobody.
But they will talk about them tonight certainly.
They talked about the broadcast of Quiepo de Llano.
Nothing more.
Oh, yes.
It seems that the Republic is preparing an offensive."
"That what?"
"That the Republic is preparing an offensive."
"Where?"
"It is not certain.
Perhaps here.
Perhaps for another pant of the Sierra.
Hast thou heard of it?"
"They say this in La Granja?"