“I have never seen him, and I suppose he has never seen me.”
“You speak the truth, senora.”
The father asked me my name and address, and promised I should have a decisive answer by dinner-time, if I dined at home. I begged him to excuse the liberty I had taken, and to let me know his answer without fail, so that I might have time to get another partner if it were unfavourable to me.
Just as I was beginning to dine my man appeared. I asked him to sit down, and he informed me that his daughter would accept my offer, but that her mother would accompany her and sleep in the carriage. I said that she might do so if she liked, but I should be sorry for her on account of the cold. “She shall have a good cloak,” said he; and he proceeded to inform me that he was a cordwainer.
“Then I hope you will take my measure for a pair of shoes.”
“I daren’t do that; I’m an hidalgo, and if I were to take anyone’s measure I should have to touch his foot, and that would be a degradation. I am a cobbler, and that is not inconsistent with my nobility.”
“Then, will you mend me these boots?”
“I will make them like new; but I see they want a lot of work; it will cost you a pezzo duro, about five francs.”
I told him that I thought his terms very reasonable, and he went out with a profound bow, refusing absolutely to dine with me.
Here was a cobbler who despised bootmakers because they had to touch the foot, and they, no doubt, despised him because he touched old leather. Unhappy pride how many forms it assumes, and who is without his own peculiar form of it?