"Lay down that revolver, Manolo. If you don't, you shall never see Amparo again as long as you live." Amparo was the fair demi-mondaine whom we have already seen at the Duke's ball. She had ruined the Marquis, a widower with young children, who had seriously intended to marry the woman; and his brain, none of the strongest at any time, had finally given way, when his family had interfered to protect him from her rapacity.
"Never again! Why not?" he asked, dejection painted on his face, as he lowered the weapon.
"Because I will not allow it; I will tell her never to let you inside her doors."
"Well, well, my dear fellow, do not be put out, I was only in fun," said the lunatic, replacing the revolver on the table.
Castro jumped out of the bath. No sooner was he wrapped in the turkish towel, with which he dried himself, than he seized the weapon and locked it away. Easy in his mind now, though annoyed by the fright his crazy friend had given him, he began talking to him in a tone of contemptuous ill-humour, while, standing before his glass, he lavished on his handsome person, with the greatest respect, all the care due to its merits.
"Now, then, out with it, man, out with the great secret. One of your fool's errands as usual, I suppose. I declare, Manolo, you ought not to be allowed in the streets. You should go somewhere and be cured," he said, as he rubbed his arms with some scented unguent which he selected from the collection of pots and bottles of every size arrayed before him.
The Marquis put his hand in his pocket, took out his note-book, and from it a letter in a woman's hand, saying with some solemnity:
"She has just written me this note. I want you to read it."
Pepe did not even turn his head to look at the document his friend held out to him. Absorbed at the moment in blending the ends of his moustache with his beard, he said in an absent-minded way:
"And what does she want?"