"And has any one a more natural right to insist upon your marriage than I have?" asked the elder man, hotly. "Leave the wine on the table, Pasquale—and the fruit—here. Give Don Giovanni his cheese. I will ring for the coffee—leave us." The butler and the footman left the room. "Has any one a more natural right, I ask?" repeated the Prince when they were alone.
"No one but myself, I should say," answered Giovanni, bitterly.
"Yourself—yourself indeed! What have you to say about it? This a family matter. Would you have Saracinesca sold, to be distributed piecemeal among a herd of dogs of starving relations you never heard of, merely because you are such a vagabond, such a Bohemian, such a break-neck, crazy good-for-nothing, that you will not take the trouble to accept one of all the women who rush into your arms?"
"Your affectionate manner of speaking of your relatives is only surpassed by your good taste in describing the probabilities of my marriage," remarked Giovanni, scornfully.
"And you say you never contradict me!" exclaimed the Prince, angrily.
"If this is an instance, I can safely say so. Comment is not contradiction."
"Do you mean to say you have not repeatedly refused to marry?" inquired old Saracinesca.
"That would be untrue. I have refused, I do refuse, and I will refuse, just so long as it pleases me."
"That is definite, at all events. You will go on refusing until you have broken your silly neck in imitating Englishmen, and then—good night Saracinesca! The last of the family will have come to a noble end!"
"If the only use of my existence is to become the father of heirs to your titles, I do not care to enjoy them myself."