“A French physician!” cried Don Juan; “Ah! that is quite another matter. I ask your pardon for having spoken so irreverently of men of your profession. A French physician! I put myself entirely into your hands. Take my eyes, Senor Medico, and do what you will with them!”
The conversation was taking a favourable turn: I hastened to broach the principal question:
“Your eyes are very bad, Senor Captain,” said I; “to accomplish a speedy cure, it is absolutely necessary that I should never quit you for a moment.”
“Would you consent to come and pass some time with me, doctor?”
Here was the principal consideration settled.
“I consent,” replied I, “but on one condition; namely, that I shall pay you for my board and lodging.”
“That shall not part us—you are free to do so,” said the worthy man; “and so the matter is settled. I have a nice room, and a good bed, all ready; there is nothing to do but to send for your baggage. I will call my servant.”
The terrible word, “baggage,” sounded in my ears like a knell. I cast a melancholy look at the crown of my hat—my only portmanteau—within which were deposited all my clothes—consisting of my little white jacket; and I feared Don Juan would take me for some runaway sailor trying to dupe him. There was no retreat; so I mustered my courage, and briefly related my sad position, adding that I could not pay for my board and lodging until the end of the month—if I was so fortunate as to find patients. Don Juan Porras listened to me very quietly. When my tale was told he burst into a loud laugh, which made me shiver from head to foot.
“Well,” cried he, “I am well pleased it should be so; you are poor; you will have more time to devote to my malady, and a greater interest in curing me. What think you of the syllogism?”
“It is excellent, Senor Captain, and before long you will find, I hope, that I am not the man to compromise so distinguished a logician as yourself. To-morrow morning I will examine your eyes, and I will not leave you till I have radically cured them.”