That was a paper which Norina had dropped on going out.
He picked it up, after some effort. “Another horrid bill, I find one in every corner—eh! what! ah!”—(here he read.) “‘Between nine and ten I shall be at that part of the garden which looks to the north; for greater precaution try to let me in through the secret door. I shall warn you by singing. Adieu.’ I shall go mad, I, Don Pasquale—I shall go mad. Malatesta, send for Malatesta. Here, some one—anyone—ALL—go fetch Doctor Malatesta. All—I say—all.” And out he tumbled from the room.
Then came the servant’s parliament. “Up and down. Up and down. Did you ever? First a bell this way—then a bell that way. Who could bear it? Did you ever, now? Horrid. Not a moment’s peace. A good house—yes, a good house. But still, why she made a piece of work when her breakfast went up, and when her dinner went up, too. Then there was a disturbance when she went out. He flies into a passion, she flies into a worse passion than ever, and then they fought! Lor! Oh yes! She hit him. You don’t say so!”
When footsteps were heard approaching, the house adjourned.
It was the doctor and Ernesto, still plotting. Ernesto was to appear at the secret door, and he was to take great care that the don should not recognize him. Here the heavy step of that luckless gentleman was heard coming towards the room, so that Ernesto fled like guilt.
The don came in paler, and colder, and more dejected than ever.
“Don Pasquale!”
“A living corpse, brother.”
“The matter—what is the matter?”
“I wish,” said the gentleman to himself, “I wish I had rather given a thousand Norinas to Ernesto.”