"Well," he exclaimed as he sank despairingly into an easy chair, "instead of passing a few days agreeably here as I expected, I shall be obliged to listen to Clara's complaints and console her; the deuce take unhappy people, it really seems as if they had made agreement to trouble my tranquillity."
At the expiration of about three-quarters of an hour, a black slave came to inform him that Doña Clara had regained her senses, but still felt so weak and faint, that she begged him to refrain from seeing her that evening.
The young man was in his heart well pleased at the liberty granted him by his sister, and which dispensed him from recurring to a conversation which possessed no charm for him.
"Very good," he said to the slave, "give my respects to my sister, and order my supper to be served here; you will at the same time request the Major-domo to come to me as I want to speak to him. Begone!"
The slave went out and left him alone.
The young Count then threw himself back in his chair, stretched out his legs and plunged, not into any reverie, but into that state of somnolency which is neither waking or sleeping, during which the mind seems to wander in unknown regions, and which the Spaniards call a siesta.
While he was in this state, the slaves laid the table, being careful not to disturb him, and covered it with exquisite dishes.
But soon the steam of the dishes placed before him recalled the young man to the reality, he drew himself up and seated himself at the table.
"Why has not the Major-domo come," he asked, "have you neglected to tell him?"
"Pardon, Excellency, but the Major-domo is absent at this moment," a slave respectfully answered.