"Oh!" cried Don Lope, suddenly starting, "is it you, Roque?"
"The same, Sir, at your service," replied the obsequious valet.
"Curse thee!" returned his master, "why makest thou that noise?"
"Thank you, dear master, that is a most amiable morning salutation; it augurs well too on a wedding-day."
"Pshaw! my wedding-day!" cried Gomez Arias, impatiently; and he again relapsed into his train of reflection.
"Eh?" ejaculated Roque; "I wonder what is in the wind now; all is not right, I perceive. Señor Don Lope, may I so far intrude on your most important meditations, as to demand what has sent your wits a wool-gathering so early in the morning: surely your dreams have not been unpleasant—for my part I cannot bear terrible dreams; they are ominous, particularly on the eve of a wedding——"
"Hold thy foolish chatter," interrupted Gomez Arias; "it is not a dream that troubles me, but a reality, a most mortifying reality. Roque," he then added in a more familiar tone, "I am involved in a labyrinth from which it will be no easy matter to extricate myself."
"I am very sorry, good Señor; for my part, I can very well conceive that a prudent man has cogent reasons to ponder and reflect more than a philosopher, when he is on the point of being entangled in the labyrinth of matrimony. Yes, Sir, I allow it is a most dangerous experiment: it is a voyage menaced with all sorts of foul weather, and surrounded with shoals, quicksands, and rocks, so that——"
"Roque, a truce with your cursed metaphors," cried Don Lope, "or I'll blow such a storm about thine ears, as to surpass all description."
"Sir," replied the valet, "if you dislike storms, I have not the smallest affection for them, so I'll even hold my tongue."