Like lightning the fan closed, fell upon the unlucky index of my left hand, which was thoughtlessly reposing upon the arm of the causeuse, and nearly knocked off the first joint, by way of reward for my reluctant compliance with her feminine wishes.
"Excuse me, Señora," I said, after I had recovered my breath, "but you are very unjust. I had nothing to do with writing this ungallant phrase; it was a brutal Roman, no doubt."
"You are making game of me,—I know you are."
"No, indeed; you insisted upon my translating it word for word, and I have done your bidding."
"Then the man was a wretch who wrote them."
"I think so too, Señora."
"A brute—an animal!"
"Certainly, Señora."
"A fool—an old horror!"