“Then since she lives there—”
“Thank God! you are not going to kill each other then,” interrupted the landlord, whose face was covered with cold sweat, “you are not going to,—no.”
“Why?”
“Doña Elena—But quiet down now. Put your swords in their scabbards and sit down and listen to me.”
It was all that was needed to let the first burst of passion subside without further consequences.
“Explain to us,” said the fat one, sitting down.
“In the first place, it is impossible that such hidalgos as you should kill each other for such women, who, it is said, owe their beauty to the diabolical arts of their mother.”
“Take care, Master Crispin! If you let your tongue run away like that⸺”
“I repeat that it is said so. But leaving that aside,—though it ought not to be, for it is important,—there is still the fact that since there are three daughters—”