noon
After the close-pent streets of Segovia , where the wayfarer seems throttled by the houses , and one looks up for light and pants towards the stars and the air , he was pleased by the breadth of Madrid . The Puerto del Sol was magnificent -- like a lake ; the Alcalá and San Geronimo were noble rivers , feeding it . He liked them at dawn when the hose-pipe had been newly at work and these great spaces of emptiness lay gleaming in the mild sunlight , exhaling freshness like that of dewy lawns . When , under the glare of noon , they lay slumbrous , they were impressive by their prodigality of width and scope ; in the bustle and hum of dusk , with the cafés filling , and spilling over on to the pavements , he could not tire of them ; but at night , the mystery of their magic enthralled him . How could one sleep in such a city ? The Puerto del Sol was then a sea of dark fringed with shores of bright light . The two huge feeders of it -- with what argosies they teemed !