Two lock arrived. As I knew my friend Braulio, I did not think it advisable to make myself too fine for his party; that, I am sure, would have annoyed him; nevertheless I could not dispense with a light frock-coat and a white pocket-handkerchief as essential for such birthday festivities. Above all, I dressed myself as slowly as possible, like the wretched criminal confessing at the foot of the gallows, who would like to have committed a hundred more sins the which to confess in order to gain more time. I was invited at two, and I entered the state-parlour at half-past two.
I will not dwell on the ceremonious calls made before dinner-time by an infinite number of visitors, among which were not least all the officials of his department with their spouses and children, their cloaks, umbrellas, galoshes, and house-dogs; I will be silent as to the foolish compliments paid to the head of the family on his birthday, nor describe the monstrous circle which was formed in the parlour by the assembly of so many heterogeneous people, discoursing upon how the weather was about to change, and how the winter is generally colder than the summer. Let us come to the point: four lock struck, and we, the invited guests, found ourselves alone. Unluckily for me, Señor X., who was to have entertained us, being a connoisseur of this class of invitation, had had the good idea to fall sick that morning; the celebrated T. found himself opportunely compromised by another invitation, and the young lady who was to sing and play so well was hoarse to such a degree that she was appalled lest a single word should drop from her lips, while she had a rag round one of her fingers. Alas, for my beguiled expectations!
“I suppose all who are to dine are here,” exclaimed Don Braulio. “Let us go to table, my dear.”
“Wait a bit,” replied his wife in a loud whisper. “Such a lot of callers prevented my being in the kitchen, and....”
“But, look, it’s five lock....”
“Dinner will be ready in a moment....”
It was five lock when we sat down.
“Ladies and gentleman,” said our amphitryon, as we staggered into our respective chairs, “I insist upon your making yourselves quite at home; we do stand upon ceremony in my house. Oh, Figaro! I want you to be quite comfortable; you are a poet, and besides, these gentlemen who know how intimate we are will not be offended if I make an exception of you; take off your coat; it wo do to stain it.”
“Why should I stain it?” I replied, biting my lips.