"See, my good friend, let us talk seriously. It is neither a question of good or of bad angels, but of a man who possesses tremendous talent,—I am speaking of you,—whom I would like to attach to my household at whatever price it may cost. We were discussing the cellar of divine wines, for the acquisition of which I would esteem no sacrifice too much. I speak to you with all the sincerity of my soul, my dear and good friend; reply to me in the same way."
Then the canon whispered to his majordomo:
"Pablo, do you stand between him and me."
"Then," replied the cook, "I will speak to you with equal sincerity, my lord canon, and first, let me repeat, I will be the desolation, the despair of your life."
"You?"
"I."
"Pablo, do you hear him? What have I done to him? My God!" murmured Dom Diégo, "what grudge has he?"
"Remember well my words, my lord canon. In comparison with the marvellous repast I have served you, the best dishes will seem insipid, the best wines bitter, and your appetite, awakened a moment by my power, will be again destroyed when I am no longer there to resurrect it."
"But, my friend," cried the canon, "you are thinking then of—"
The man in the cotton cap and white jacket again interrupted the canon and said: