Troico. I suppose so.
Leno. Now stop there;—suppose one of yours had been eaten of a Thursday; on whom would the ill-luck have fallen? on the pancake or on you?
Troico. No doubt, on me.
Leno. Then, my good Troico, comfort yourself, and begin to suffer and be patient; for men, as the saying is, are born to misfortunes, and there are matters, in fine, that come from God; and in the order of time you must die yourself, and, as the saying is, your last hour will then be come and arrived. Take it, then, patiently, and remember that we are here to-morrow and gone to-day.
Troico. For heaven’s sake, Leno, is any body in the family dead? Or else why do you console me so?
Leno. Would to heaven that were all, Troico!
Troico. Then what is it? Can’t you tell me, without so many circumlocutions? What is all this preamble about?
Leno. When my poor mother died, he that brought me the news, before he told me of it, dragged me round through more turn-abouts than there are windings in the Pisuerga and Zapardiel.[23]
Troico. But I have got no mother, and never knew one. I don’t comprehend what you mean.
Leno. Then smell of this napkin.