Berm. Señor Don Lazarus Mejia?
Laz. Your servant—very much your servant—one who is grieved to the heart for having troubled a person such as you. A man of eminence—a man of knowledge. (With much courtesy, but endeavouring to restrain himself.)
Berm. Not so—not so—I received your letter.
Laz. Indeed, it was not meant that you should give yourself any trouble. I begged you to be good enough to appoint a time for me and I should have gone to your house. But take a seat. I cannot allow you to remain standing an instant longer. Sit down! (Making him sit down.) Here—no—here—you will be better here.
Berm. Many thanks. You are very amiable! (Takes a seat.)
Laz. I don’t know whether I am entitled to sit down in the presence of a man like yourself; a national glory! (Commands himself so that his accent is natural: perhaps however he errs a little by excess of courtesy.)
Berm. For goodness’ sake!
Laz. A man of European fame!
Berm. You overwhelm me. I don’t deserve—(Aside.) He is very engaging, this young man. They were right in Madrid to say that he has plenty of ability.
Laz. You don’t deserve it? Ah! in the mouth of a celebrity like Doctor Bermudez, modesty will always have a voice, but it has no vote.