“Well—well—well.”
“Excuse me, Senor—I come to shave you.”
“I’ll not be shaved to-day.”
“Then not to-morrow. I’m engaged to-morrow.”
“I say I’ll not be shaved to-day.”
“What, doctor—think you I’m a country shaver! So please you find another barber—I am off.”
“Well—well—have your way. Go to my room and—no—no, I’ll go myself.”
I have forgotten to say that the old doctor had locked up the balcony, and carried the key in his pocket—with all the other keys—a mighty bunch. The doctor locked up everything.
Amongst other things and places, the doctor always locked up his own room. Now, therefore, he hauled forth the mighty bunch, and turned his legs towards the door. Suddenly his suspicion was all awake again. What, leave the stranger and the barber there! No—no. “Here, Figaro—take the keys; be careful, and break nothing!”
As Figaro passed the young lady she looked up, and said rapidly—“The newest key there is.”