“I should like,” returned Bazilio, drawing nearer to his friend, “to get rid of her decently.”
“Stupid!” responded Reynaldo. “Why, you have an excuse for doing so that if you had invented it yourself could not be better. She left you like a madwoman, as you tell me. Well, then, write to her saying that since you see she wishes to break with you, you will trouble her no more, and then leave the city. Are all your affairs settled? You need not say they are not, for Lapierre has told me they are. Very well; be a man, order your trunks to be packed, and rid yourself at once of this annoyance.”
And taking up the sponge he proceeded to let a shower of water fall over his head and shoulders, exhaling his breath with satisfaction as he did so.
“But to leave her in this difficulty with the servant!” said Bazilio. “After all, she is my cousin.”
Reynaldo stretched his arms with a shout of laughter. “This family affection is admirable,” he said. “See, go and say to her that your affairs oblige you to leave Lisbon, and put a few bank-notes into her hand.”
“That would be brutal!”
“And costly!”
“But it is a pity, after all, that the poor girl should be at the mercy of her own servant,” said Bazilio.
Reynaldo stretched himself again. “Who knows,” he exclaimed in joyful accents, “but that they are at this very moment engaged in scratching each other’s eyes out?”
He leaned back in a state of beatitude, and declared that he was supremely happy,—provided only that John had not forgotten to prepare the champagne frappé.