The marchioness had a face longer than that of Don Quixote.
“It is worse than the mockery of the world,” continued the general, in a voice of thunder; “it is an insult!”
“My uncle,” said the countess, softening her voice as much as possible, “where there is no bad thought, where there is only trifling which makes one giddy, with the disposition to laugh—”
“Disposition to laugh!” exclaimed the general. “Laugh at me! laugh at my wife! By my life, that will never happen again. I go, this instant even, to lodge my complaint with the police.”
“The police! are you in your sound senses, brother?” cried the marchioness.
“If I can happily get out of this,” said Raphael to Rita, “I vow to St. Juan the Silent to imitate him during a year and a day.”
“My dear León,” pursued the marchioness, “do not clothe this childishness with too much importance. Calm yourself. I know that he loves and respects you. Would you create scandal? Family complaints should never be made public. Come, León, let this be kept among ourselves.”
“What family complaints are you talking about?” replied the general, approaching his sister. “Is it a family affair to witness the unheard-of insolence of this ill-bred Englishman, who insults the people of the country?”
On hearing these words, the sister and all the others breathed as if a stone was taken from off their hearts; the history, then, had not been heard by the inflexible general, and Raphael demanded in the most severe tone he could give to his voice—
“What has he then done, this great amphibious animal?”