This joking was not in good taste; however, Alvaro made no demur, fearing perhaps that the least symptom of impatience might suggest a doubt of his perfect coolness. Encouraged by his phlegmatic smile, the "Savages" did not know when to leave off; the jest about the funeral was repeated with variations. In point of fact he was getting tired of it; but they could not move him from his cold and placid smile. He said very little, and when he spoke it was in a few supercilious words. At last, taking out his watch, he said: "It is three o'clock. Three-quarters of an hour yet. Who is for a game of cards?"
It was an excuse for releasing himself from these buzzing flies, and at the same time showed his perfect coolness. Three of the men went with him to the card-room. There the banter went on as it had done in the drawing-room.
"Look at him! How his hand shakes!"
"To think that within an hour he will have ceased to breathe!"
"I say, Alvaro, leave me Conchilla in your will."
"I see no objection," said Alvaro, arranging his hand.
"You hear, gentlemen, Conchilla is mine by the testator's will. What do you call such a will as that, Leon?"
"Nuncupatory," said Leon, who had picked up a few law terms in the course of a lawsuit against some cousins.
"Conchilla is mine, by nuncupatory bequest. Thank you, Alvaro. I will see that she goes into mourning, and we will respect your memory so far as may be. Have you any instructions to leave me?"
"Yes, to give her a dusting every eight or ten days; if she does not get a good cry once a week she falls ill."