"I am by no means astonished, my dear friend, but what are you going to do with this cellar, which is rich enough to be the envy of a king? Ah, if you desired to surrender to me the whole, or a part of it, I would not hesitate to make any sacrifice for its possession; because, as you have just said with so much significance, good dishes without good wines are like a beautiful woman without soul. Now, these wines accompany your productions so admirably that—I—"
The cook interrupted Dom Diégo with a sarcastic, sneering laugh.
"You laugh, my friend?" said the canon, greatly surprised. "You laugh?"
"Yes, my lord, I laugh."
"And at what, my friend?"
"At your gratitude to me, my lord canon."
"My friend, I do not understand you."
"Ah, Lord Dom Diégo! you believe that your good angel—and I picture him to myself, fat and chubby, dressed as I am, like a cook, and wearing pheasant wings on the back of his white robe!—ah, you believe, I say, my lord canon, that your good angel has sent me to you!"
"My dear friend," said Dom Diégo, stretching his large eyes, and feeling very uncomfortable on account of the cook's sardonic humour, "my dear friend, I pray you, explain yourself clearly."
"My lord canon, this day will prove a fatal one for you."