"Yes, Sir," answered Roque, "I am; and what is more, I have been so these three years—may I speak out?"
"Why," said Don Lope, "you never till now asked leave to be impertinent—but let me hear your complaints."
"In the first place you are not rich—a grievous fault."
"How can I help that?" demanded Gomez Arias.
"Señor, you could have helped it once; but that is passed. Then you play——"
"Here's the devil preaching morality," exclaimed his master, with a laugh. "Oh! most conscientious Roque, what are thine objections to this amusement?"
"To the amusement in itself, none; I am only discontented with the consequences. If you gain, you very composedly enjoy the whole fruits of your success; if, on the contrary, you lose, I get more than a reasonable share of your ill-humours, with which you most liberally indulge me. Now, Don Lope, I should like fair play, if play you will; to feel a little more the effect of the first, and not quite so much of the second."
"Thou art a pleasant sort of a fool, Roque," said Gomez Arias, as he leisurely twirled round his curling jet-black mustachios, and with much complacency eyed his fine figure in a mirror.
"Thank you, Sir," replied the valet, with a low bow; "but be pleased to consider, that the good opinion you entertain of my talents is unfortunately no adequate compensation for the privations and numberless perils which I undergo in your service. To continue, then, the list of——"
"My faults!" interrupted his master.