“Is there anything else you want?”
“Nothing more, Señora Patrocinio.”
The old woman withdrew and shut the door.
“How do you like the place, eh?” asked Don Gil.
“Magnificent! Now for the history of my friend Quentin.”
“Before the history, let’s drink. Your health, comrade.”
“Yours.”
“May all our troubles vanish into thin air.”
“True,” exclaimed Quentin. “Let us leave to the gods the care of placating the winds, and let us enjoy life as long as fortune, age, and the black spindle of the Three Sisters will permit us.”
“Are you a reader of Horace?” asked Don Gil.