Eduardo Juan thrust a bony hand inside and unbuttoned the lower half door. He pushed through, and Paladrez followed him. They entered with a shuffle, and stood gazing at Don Noé. He, in turn, grinned at them. He was paying Felisa double—aye, treble-fold—for packing his hats in some close quarter, where, as yet, he knew not. Perhaps she had left them behind. A crack of the hat box! He was sinking lower.
"If you don't care for my best hat, Dad, I should think you would not wish to ruin your own hat box." Then, turning to Eduardo Juan, "Pull him out at once!"
Don Noé, certain that he had done all the damage possible, stretched out appealing hands. The men seized upon those aristocratic members with their grimy paws, and pulled and tugged his arms nearly out of their sockets. They got him partly to his feet, the box and flowers rising with him. Felisa saw that there was no chance of resurrection for the hat, the ludicrous side of the situation overcame her, and she laughed unrestrainedly.
"Knock it off, confound you!" screamed Don Noé, in a sudden access of rage. Felisa's return of good temper made him furious. She danced round him, taunting and jibing. "The biter bit," she sang, "the biter bit."
"Take something, anything, knock it off!" shouted Don Noé again.
Palandrez, with a wrench, tore off the cover of the hat box and released the prisoner.
"You've ruined my hat!" "You've ruined my hat box!" screamed father and daughter in unison. He shook his fist in her face.
"Get out of my room, every man jack of you!"
The gentle peons fled, a shower of garments, boots, and brushes following them. The room looked like the wreck of all propriety and reserve.