"Indeed, Señora, I don't know ... you would not forgive me."
"It is, then, something dreadful?"
"No, not exactly dreadful, but——"
"Dios! Dios! worlds of patience!" and she stamped her tiny foot; "will you go on? You kill me with vexation. Translate it, I say, word for word." And here the Dona, with discreet carelessness opening her fan, prepared to blush.
"'Qui Dæmone pejus'—who is there worse than the devil? Hum!"—now for the pinch, thought I.
"Go on! go on!—the next words."
"'Mulier rixosa'—is—a——"
"Well, go on, will you?"
"Yes—a quarrelsome woman!"