. . . . . . . . . . . . .
“What’s the matter with you, Don Gil?” asked Quentin, as he saw the narrator looking about for something.
“Why, you’re not pouring wine for me.”
“There’s none left.”
“Then call Señora Patrocinio.”
“What will you have, Don Gil? Falernus? Or shall we devote ourselves this time to the vines of Calais?”
“No, no; Montilla.”
“Can’t we make a change?”
“Mix one wine with another? Never! It’s very dangerous. But are you, or are you not going to call that old woman? If you do not, I will not go on with my story.”
“Do go on with it, Don Gil,” said Señora Patrocinio, opening the door and placing two bottles upon the table. “I was almost asleep out here, and was amusing myself by listening to what you were saying.”