"You must know, Miguel, that for some months past my life has been a hell! My wife (who, parenthetically, is the most loathsome woman that God ever put into the world) has taken it into her head to be jealous of me! Would you believe that such a piece of trumpery, an old shoe, has the slightest right to be jealous of a man like me? Does it not seem to you that I have done enough in burdening myself with her?
"Now, instead of thanking me for the sacrifice that I made in marrying her, she is foolish enough to believe that I ought to adore her, to be dying with love for her. And as this is the height of absurdity, and cannot be, she is eating out my very soul. When I get up, when I lie down, when I go out of the house, when I come in, when I eat, and when I sleep, never can I enjoy an instant's peace; above all, at meal-time she has been making such a martyr of me that I cannot eat half as much as I ought, and even then it troubles me to digest it. I cannot go on in this way without danger of losing my health. Great evils require heroic remedies; one day I took the revolver, and said to her: 'If at table you say another word to disturb me, I will put an ounce of lead into your head.'
"That was a happy idea, for since that time she has not said a single word more, and to-day only by taking advantage of your presence did she make a few indirect insinuations. My servant has been charged, when setting the table, to place the revolver by my plate.... Perhaps you will imagine that she is jealous of some definite person, and that I am doing wrong not to break loose from this person, and thus avoid all occasion for torment; but there is nothing of the sort. Each day she is jealous of some different woman, and never once hits the truth. Man alive! to show you how stupid she is, I will tell you that day before yesterday a good lady, whom I happened never to mention to her, sent me a couple of dozen tarts; and she, without any more ado, flung the platter on the floor, and began to berate the servant like a sardine-woman. Tell me now if I don't need patience, and if it would not have been better for me to have had all the bones in my body broken than marry this calamity!"
Uncle Manolo ceased speaking, and continued silent for a long time, brooding over his sad thoughts. Miguel dared not disturb them, since he knew too well that it was hopeless for him to offer him any advice. Finally, that magnanimous man, richer every day in tribulations, stopped again, and asked his nephew, with severe intonation:—
"Tell me, Miguel, don't you know any place now infested by the cholera or any other contagious disease?"
"No, uncle; I do not," replied Miguel, struggling hard not to laugh. "What a strange idea! Do you wish to murder your wife?"
"Man! no, of course not to murder her. I only thought in any case of letting nature have its perfect work.... But could I have a blacker fate? Just imagine! I learn from a medical friend that Madrid is full of fevers and pneumonia, caused by the bad custom of riding on the Prado in September. Well now, after many entreaties, and 'making myself into syrup' to accomplish it, I succeeded in getting my wife out to drive with me several evenings. 'Come now,' I said to myself, 'if she does not get pneumonia, she may at least catch a bit of a fever, and as she is feeble...." Do you understand?"
"Perfectly! and did she?"
"Hush, man, hush! The one who caught a catarrh, and had to stay in the house four days was ... myself. I haven't got over my cough yet!"
All this time they were walking along the Calle de Peligros, and they saw coming toward them a young woman not at all bad-looking, since she had bright, rosy complexion and red lips; her dress was attractive and rather scanty. As she passed she smiled upon Uncle Manolo, giving him a very expressive salute.